


Reckless Spies (Lams)

by Rogueangelll



Category: Alexander Hamilton - Ron Chernow, American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, American Revolution, Angst, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Author is also a depressed teenage bisexual oof, Bisexual (ish) Alexander Hamilton, Casual xenophobia (smh), FREAKIN JOHN GLOVER, Fluff, Gay John Laurens, Gay sex (And a lot of it), Homophobia, Lams - Freeform, Lots of references nobody will get unless you study history, M/M, Masculinity, Modern AU, Multi, Or Is It?, Porn With Plot, Racism, Sexism, Smut, Sorry Not Sorry, Spies & Secret Agents, Too many references to Sherlock I’m sorry, Top Alexander Hamilton, Top John Laurens, cross dressing too haha, exploring homosexuality, gay versatile relationships, lafayette is sTraight and cisgender I’m sorry, no trigger warnings before chapters, please excuse the typos, sons of liberty - Freeform, spy AU, this is not how America is, this is really gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 16:03:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 32,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15644151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rogueangelll/pseuds/Rogueangelll
Summary: Hamilton and Laurens are spies under an organization that steers clear of the American government; run by a group called the Sons of Liberty.They knew each other for a few months, quickly becoming friends. "Inseparable," was the word Washington had used— best friends, practically from the moment they met.But "friends" quickly turned into more. "Friends with benefits" was the usual term used. Something like that, maybe. Partners in justice, in love, and in friendship.





	1. Reckless Spies

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually from one of my books on Wattpad. I’m moving it and continuing it here so don’t go looking for my trashy Wattpad lmao

Laurens ran his fingers through Hamilton’s hair and sighed, grabbing his wrist.  Hamilton took his hand off of the steering wheel, making a startled noise and quickly replacing his hands again to prevent a wreck.

"What?" Hamilton said, not frustrated in any way, simply tense.

"Hair elastic," Laurens replied, latching his fingers under the black hair elastic on his friend's wrist and pulling it off.  Hamilton made a small noise, nodding.  Laurens pulled Hamilton’s auburn hair back and put it in a bun. "Lex, you look tense."

"You're not sucking my dick on a way to a case." 

"I'm offended— I never said that," Laurens chuckled, moving his hand over to Hamilton's lap and brushing over his inner thigh, just a bit too close to—

"John," Hamilton said sternly.  Groaning a bit, Laurens took away his hand, leaving Hamilton to drive without distractions.

Laurens, looking out the window and resting his face in his hand, mumbled, "Fine. No fun doing oral without compensation anyway.” He paused. “Plus, I don't see what the issue is.  We're on a backroad, it's quiet, and we have plenty of time—"

"We have to get to the house in no more than a half hour.  That stop at the gas station already cost us, and besides, it's dark and raining and you're a better driver than me.  The only reason I'm driving—"

"—Is because I'm a lazy ass, I got it, Lex," Laurens huffed.  "You don't need to rub it in my face."

"—Is because you're a reckless idiot," Hamilton shot a short glare at him, then looked back at the road, "and you got shot in the goddamn shoulder.  You almost got Tallmadge killed, by the way.  And Washington isn't too happy about that. You're lucky you're even with me right now.  I could've gotten stuck with Lafayette and God, love him, but he never stops talking.”

"Neither do you.”

"At least I talk about things other than how much I love speaking English.  And his wife gets sick of it, too."

"You know, you'd never know he was married," Laurens speculated quietly, still looking out the window.

"Well— Mm.  Okay.”

“I don’t know how he has the nerve... always running around, screwing other women and...”

“Right, but at least it’s not trashy whores from a bar he went to.”

“Whether he knows them personally or not doesn’t matter, he’s still cheating on a wonderful woman.” Laurens let out an angry huff of breath. “It’s not fair for him to sleep around like that, no matter how much he loves his fucking ‘dearheart’ or whatever. If he really loved her, he wouldn’t do that to her.”

“Yeah.  'Tis true, my dear Laurens," Hamilton joked playfully, then went a bit more serious, "Lafayette is— you know.  It's Lafayette.  He loves Adrienne a lot, but seriously... you'd think that would prompt him to not cheat on her?  I don't know.  I don't have an easy time trusting people like that," he shivered a bit, "and yet, I find myself always making friendships with people like that."

"Poor unfortunate soul." 

“It’s different for us, right?”

“Yeah, we’re just friends...” Laurens said, regretting it as he said it. “Sex takes off the edge of life sometimes so it’s okay if we do it, y’know, without promises or whatever.”

“No, like, sleeping with other people even though technically we’re in some sort of relationship.”

“Mhm... ‘cause we’ve already talked about it.”

Hamilton’s nose twitched. “Kind of. We sort of talked about it, but not really.”

“Well, obviously neither one of us has a problem about the other sleeping around,” he lied.

“We don’t know that Lafayette and Adrienne haven’t talked about it,” Hamilton pointed out suddenly. “Laf never really talks about how him sleeping around affects his relationship with his wife.”

“Maybe they do have an open relation,” Laurens speculated quietly. “I don’t know if I could do that for real... if I was married I wouldn’t want my...” He didn’t know how to finish that sentence.

"Mm... same. And I Lafayette is annoying, but I can get over it. I love him anyway.  But McHenry— now, he I can stand."

"Yeah," Laurens agreed genuinely, "McHenry is a good man.” He paused and smirked a little, "I bet he would let me suck his dick.”

Hamilton tensed.  He wanted to retaliate to the comment, but it's not like he had any say over who his friend had sex with.  He would just prefer if he didn’t know who the hell Laurens was sleeping with. So, he stayed quiet for a moment.  Laurens noticed the tension and opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, Hamilton spoke.  "You know, I bet Meade would blow me.”

"That's gay."

Hamilton chuckled.  "He'd probably be willing to do it somewhere gross, like a public restroom or— uh, I dunno.  Supply closet?  Under the desk at work?  Maybe in the back seat of his car.  Shit, I could totally get down with that.”

"Excuse me," Laurens crossed his arms, "we did shit in all the above.”

"That's the point, Laur.”

"You jealous?"

"Of who? McHenry?"

Laurens chuckled.  "I wouldn't actually—"

"Oh, I know," Hamilton amended.  "Look, it's just hypotheticals.  Pretty sure both Meade and McHenry are straight anyway."

"He'd come around. You turned me gay.”

Hamilton let out a hearty laugh, "Lies.  You're more gay than a Hollywood orgy.”

"I already told you," he corrected lightly, "’swag parties’ weren't ever really a thing, it’s just a stupid thing you heard from an inmate on Lockup and—”

"Joke, joke.  But, don't pull that shit, you were gay long before I came around.  Still, the compliment is nice.  I'm hot as hell.  We're almost there, by the way.”

"'Kay."

"When we get there, we're not setting the house on fire,"

"But—" Laurens began to protest.

"No. I don't care how much you want to—"

"But Alex—"

"No!" Hamilton said sternly. “That's how you got hurt in the first place, meathead!  And that's not a movie reference, you just are one.  And I know I am too, don't utter a word.  I just don't want you to get shot again, Jesus.  The shoulder was close enough."

Laurens scoffed, indignant, "Close enough to what?"

"Your head.  You have a good one, rather it not be blow off.” Hamilton gritted his teeth, slowing the car and pulling over. He turned off the headlights and leaned back in his seat. 

"I'm fine, Alexander," Laurens reassured him.  "Not dead yet."

"Please, rephrase that, John," Hamilton begged quietly.  "Preferably without the last word?"

"Fine. I'm not dead," he said, then added quietly, "smart ass.  I'm not going to... whatever.  Can I see the file again?"

Hamilton nodded, leaning into the backseat and pulling a beige folder out of a black case on the floor.  Laurens almost made an off-hand comment about his ass being in the air but decided against it.  Hamilton leaned back up, handing the folder to him and pulling out his phone flashlight.  As Laurens read over the file, he mumbled the details to Hamilton. 

"Five of 'em— four from Afghanistan, and it says here that one of them is from Turkmenistan," he sighed, setting the file down on his lap and looking out the window.  "We have to arrest five of 'em by ourselves.  What kind of BS is that?"

"Hey, Washington told us—"

"Yeah, yeah.  You know why he wants us to make these arrests?" Laurens asked, not waiting for an answer. "Because he knows we're crazy enough to not let a single one get away alive."

"If that's what it takes.  We're supposed to arrest though.  I don't care either way," Hamilton shrugged nonchalantly.  He was loading his gun in the dim car, handing a cartridge of ammunition to Laurens and prompting him to do the same.  "Hey, Laurens, does it ever bother you?"

"What?" he mumbled a bit absently, dropping the pistol and picking it back up quickly, which prompted Hamilton to scold him under his breath.

Hamilton sighed and went on, "Killing people.  Does it ever bother you?"

"Uh, does it bother you?" Laurens responded with a question, making Hamilton chuckle.

"Ladies and gents, John Laurens, son of congressman Henry Laurens.  Politician by blood. Henry taught him well, as he clearly knows the tactics of a politician.” He sighed and laughed bitterly again.  He then went on, "Not really.  It's not like we're bustin' people up for narcotics.  We're getting the worst of the worst, happily under a force that isn't limited to the FBI.”

"Yeah, I don't trust those assholes," Laurens agreed, clicking the safety on his gun and pulling on his jacket.  "Ready to go?"

"Yeah, but does it bother you?"

"No," Laurens said, hand on the car door handle. The rain tapped louder on the window, signifying a heavier downfall.  "These people deserve what's coming to them, Alexander.  That file— illegal immigrants who—"

"John," Hamilton cut him off sternly, "their legal status has nothing to do with it."

"Um, yes it does, when they're from gangs and are associated with war crimes!  Murdering and raping women, children, executing fathers and grandfathers like cattle!"

"John," Hamilton said more sternly.  "I'm resisting the urge to strangle you.  The point is, these people are criminals.  There's no correlation between whether or not they were born in the country they are being prosecuted in."

Laurens sighed, leaned back in his seat.  "Look, I'm not racist or xenophobic.  My great grandparents immigrated— from Switzerland." 

"Oh, okay, great. So, your great grandparents are Swiss, wonderful—" he replied sarcastically, "so just because you're Swiss, it means that you're exempt from being xenophobic? Jesus," Hamilton hissed quietly, "like father, like son.”

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm just sayin', John— the apple never falls far from the tree.  Your dad was who he was, is, and you're just..." he exhaled heavily through his nose, rubbing his temples.  "Let's just go in and do this thing."

"What? No," Laurens grabbed Hamilton's sleeve, "What do you mean by that?  My Pa isn't—"

"Yeah, he is," Hamilton pulled his arm away.  "Let's go. We'll talk about this later."

"Alex, we're not some married couple fighting, don't treat it like that!  Damn," he sighed, "shit, just, shit.  I'm not— I don't hate illegal immigrants.”

"Shit, Laurens," Hamilton rolled his eyes and opened the car door, getting out.

"I'm friends with you, aren't I?!" Laurens yelled angrily at him. Hamilton, rolling his eyes and gritting his teeth, turned his gaze to the abandoned-looking house.  Laurens got out of the car as well and they both stood in the heavy rain, jacket hoods pulled up.

Hamilton turned to Laurens, unable to hold back.  "You know what?  You're friends enough with me to blow me in our boss's office, too.  Doesn't mean anything.  Let's get a move on, Laur, before I fucking—"

"...What?  C'mon, Ham, what do you have to say to me?"

"Say another word and I'm going to shove you against the roof of your car and suck your dick.”

"What a threat," Laurens seethed, although the tension was fading as Hamilton clearly made the joke to stop a fight.

"And then we'll be late getting this bounty and Washington will fire us.  So let's go.” Hamilton motioned towards the house as Laurens put his gun in his holster. Hamilton looked back at him, sighing and working out a crick in his neck as he walked. Laurens followed, and pulled a throwing knife out and of his backpack pocket swiftly, holding it and readying it. Hamilton had his pistol held up as the walked up to the front door.

"So, how're we doing this?" Laurens whispered, rain running off of his hood and the knife in hand. Hamilton resisted the urge to kiss him ('cause, damn, he looked hot) and took a moment to consider.

"Bust in, kill at least one, scare 'em into complying," he paused, "Jesus, why do you still use those throwing knives?"

"Because I look hot when I pitch 'em into the chests of those cretins," he smirked.  Hamilton rolled his eyes and allowed Laurens to kicked down the door.

Inside, all of the lights were off.  Hamilton flicked on the switch, making Laurens mutter something around the lines of, "And God said, 'Let there be light'.”

"'Ey! Who's there?" a tough voice shouted, emerging from the hallway with some sort of automatic weapon.  Laurens, without any preamble whatsoever, launches his knife, stabbing him— quite literally— in the heart.

"Your mom," Laurens joked, making Hamilton roll his eyes and laugh a little.  Laurens retrieved the knife and, seeing as the man was still struggling to hold on for dear life, he crushed his head beneath his black boot with sort of a 'crunch' sound that made Hamilton cringe.

"Great, c'mon," Hamilton said, picking up the semi-automatic. "AR-15," he told Laurens as he examined the gun, "and not the legal kind.  Bump-stocks, and it's not rifle-based, Jersey has 'em banned.”

"No doubt they'll have more," Laurens muttered in response, wiping his knife on his dark— nearly black— camouflage cargo pants.  Sighing, he shrugged and began back into the house, holding the illegal weapon in front of him, ready to shoot.  Laurens shouted, "come out peacefully, and we won't shoot! We have the place surrounded!"

Hamilton elbowed him, a bit frustrated and just kept going.  They came upon a room.  Peeling wallpaper, an old rug that probably had mites, but a fireplace in the corner.  It wasn't burning anything, although it appeared to have recently been put out.  Laurens sighed, annoyed at himself for tracking water and mud into the house, but shrugged it off.

"Hey, what year do you think this house was built?" he whispered.

Hamilton continued to look around the room. "Ah, I don't know.  Maybe mid-nineteenth century?  Can't be too old, since it's kind of forgotten.  Let's settle on... 1860."

"I'll say 1820," Laurens answered.  "We'll go back to the office and find out.  Bet?"

"Whoever is closest gets a hand job."

"I meant money, horny fuck."

Hamilton shrugged. “Said the man who wanted to suck my dick ten minutes ago.” 

Laurens just sighed. "Whether you lose or not, you'd give me a handy anyway."

"Whatever.  Loser isn't allowed to sleep with anyone else for two months," he suggested. 

"Deal," Laurens answered quickly— a bit too quickly— but when Hamilton was about to point this out, Laurens pointed out a glass bong to him instead. It was blue, tall, and it sat on the floor by an old mattress, next to several baggies of marijuana.

"So, what?"  Hamilton grunted, "I thought you found something exciting.  There's nothing wrong with a bit of marijuana."

"It's not legal in New Jersey."

"Oh, please, everything is legal in New Jersey," he rolled his eyes, "women could vote in New Jersey since, like, 1776, until some aristocratic assholes in 1807 decided only white, male citizens— what?" Hamilton stopped as Laurens put a finger to his lips, looking intensely into his eyes.  "Laurens, not the time.  We're on a job.”

"What? No, shut up, I mean listen," he whispered.  

Hamilton stayed silent, listening closely.  His eyes widened slightly and he whispered, "Shit— footsteps, upstairs.  C'mon."

"They must've heard the shouting.”

"Which is your fault," Hamilton reminded him sharply as they walked towards a staircase.

"I was scaring them so they'd have no choice but to surrender."

"Idiot.  We're not cops.  All that's going to do is back them into a corner— people freak when they get backed into a corner like that.  They're more likely to comply if they believe they have options.  Less likely to— oh, I don't know— fucking shoot us in the shoulder?"  Hamilton snapped, raising an eyebrow at John's shoulder.  There were bandages on it underneath his clothes.  "At the very least, they're less likely to panic and shoot randomly.  Aim for the chest, gives us time to kill them first.  That's how you scare them.  Too bad we don't have helmets, though, like SWAT members."

"Congress would never pay for that."

"Ah, but the real congress would," he paused, "like, the actual American government."

"Yeah, they like violence and obesity," Laurens laughed quietly, "and patriotism?"

"Sure. If 'Patriotism' means fascism, xenophobia, gun violence, rape culture, drug wars, human traf—"

"Hello!?" a voice shouted.  It was rushed, angry, and would have been frightening if Hamilton wasn't cracking up at the formal greeting of "hello" rather than, "hey", or, "who's there?"  Laurens bit his lip and elbowed him, as they both turned the corner, weapons up.

Hamilton tried to stay quiet until he would be able to get in view, but just couldn't shut his mouth.  He held up his gun and grinned, calling up the stairs at the shadowed figure, "Hello!"

Laurens tried not to die of laughter as the two cracked up, a gun suddenly being fired— Laurens tensed at the fear of not knowing who fired the gun first.  Hamilton turned to Laurens slowly, eyes wide as his smile faltered.

"Alex?!" Laurens said, rushed, moving forward to drag Hamilton out of the way of the stairs.  He was afraid of seeing a bleeding wound, a shocked expression, a limp, gasping, something that would show that he had gotten shot.  But after a moment, Hamilton, grabbing onto John's shoulders, looked up at him and smiled, laughing hysterically.  Laurens' eyes widened and he grit his teeth, shoving Hamilton away, hands trembling slightly.  "You asshole! I thought you got shot, oh my God, you suck!"

"Well, you got actually shot a few weeks back, so we're even," he smirked.  Laurens rolled his eyes and moved around the corner, beginning up the stairs.  He stayed right up against the wall, knife ready, staring at the dead body on the top of the landing.  "Damn, for wanted drug lords-slash-murderers-slash-rapists, these assholes suck at defense."

Hamilton snorted and followed him up the stairs.  They stayed silent, creeping around the corner and by a room with a dim light.  They saw men in there, shadows against some sort of lamp light, three of them at least. 

"Show yourselves, infiltrators," a deep voice demanded.

"Woah, are you a literate one?" Hamilton joked, flicking his eyes over to Laurens.  "We killed two of you, already.  Come out and we'll... negotiate."

"Negotiate," the same voice repeated.  "Don't negotiate with cops.”

"Buddy, we're not cops," Laurens called.  Hamilton was just a little too focused on the way his chest moved up and down as he breathed.  Deep breaths, seemingly calm, but something about his eyes spelled out "murder".  "Come on," he went on, voice softening with faux sympathy, "we don't even work for the government.  And we're not on narcotics."

"Drop weapons, we talk."

"No," Laurens said, insistent and stubborn, "no can do, buddy.  We won't shoot if you don't.”

The was a slight growl from another man before Laurens wasn't taking any more shit; he flung his knife into the room, knowingly hitting the wall, though it barely nicked the ear of one of the men with a gun inside. There suddenly was cussing, rummaging, and gunshots.  Hamilton muttered and began shooting into the room a bit blindly.  Laurens launched another knife from his bag, three more in his left hand, ready to switch out and throw. 

"Don't want to have to do this," Hamilton shouted over the gunshots.  They ceased for a split second, but the starting back up signified that none of these men were getting out alive.  "Have it your way, assholes.”

Laurens, without saying a word, turned into the room and lodged a knife in the neck of the first man there. Hamilton stopped shooting and, for a moment, it was quiet.  Four bodies lied on the floor, blood everywhere, and one under Laurens, who pulled the knife out of the convulsing man's neck, knowing that it would cause the blood to squirt unattractively onto his clothes and body.  Laurens sighed and looked up to the corner of the room, where a man was holding a gun to the head of a crying woman.  Hamilton's eyes widened and he held up his gun, fear making him go pale. 

Before now, there was no risk of a liability.  But now, there was risk of an innocent woman dying because of the two men's reckless antics.  

"I will kill—" the man stammered.  He was sweating, breathing heavily, and his hand shook against the small pistol in his hand.  His skin was no darker than Laurens' and he looked young— no facial hair, a bit of acne, and dark brown eyes that darted nervously around the room.  The woman in his arms looked older.  She has a pale complexion and light brown hair, knees trembling as she shook and cried, begging quietly for help.  She was wearing skinny jeans and had only a bra on, though there was a coat in the corner that was light brown and had a pillow on it.  The man, through poor, broken English, spoke slowly: "I will kill her if you shoot.”

"Let her go," Hamilton growled, very clearly upset. 

"No— no."

"Stop— What is your name?" Laurens asked calmly.  Hamilton shot him an angry look but he continued anyway, "we don't want to kill you.  Let her go, and we will not hurt you."

"No," he just repeated, "shoot... I will kill her."

"You are not in danger if you simply—"

"No!" the man shouted, putting his finger on the trigger.  The next order of events happened so quickly that nobody could stop it.

Hamilton pulled out his pistol; he pulled the trigger; the woman screamed, both her and the man tumbling down; Laurens immediately ran over, Hamilton's eyes still wide, mouth slightly open. 

"Alexander!" Laurens yelled, "What the fuck? Do you have rocks for brains?"

"I just wanted to protect her," he said softly.  Laurens looked up at him, blood on his hands and chest from the man he killed before, and now he clutched onto the woman's body with fear.  She had been shot in the head, there was nothing else they could do.

"I swear to God," Laurens grit his teeth, "the boy you just killed might not have even been on our list!"

"What?! How would you know, Laurens?"

"There were six men in this room," he began quietly, taking his cellphone out and flipping it open.  It was his work phone— he'd have to text Washington to send in the Thanatos, their code word for the body collectors.  They usually would take live criminals, too, but in this case they had nobody to arrest.  Laurens sighed and went on, "and two men downstairs.  We had five men to kill.  And this woman— we don't know who she is!"

Hamilton looked around the room of the dead bodies, closing his eyes and turning away.  Laurens got to his feet and followed him out of the room, downstairs, and into a dark kitchen.  Hamilton turned on the light and reached into his jacket pocket, growling under his breath.

"What?" Laurens inquired.

"I— cigarettes, in the car," he muttered. 

"You're not smoking in this house." 

"Fuck off, you're not my dad. And Thanatos will probably burn this house down anyway."

"I'm not, but you're just stressed," he argued.  Hamilton looked up at him, turning his nose up at the sight of Laurens' blood-stained clothes.  He growled:

"Wonder why."

Laurens sighed and crossed his arms, leaning against the old, dirty countertop.  He stood in silence for a moment before speaking up.  "Thanatos, on their way."

"Good."

"I'm just pissed, okay?  You don't know that that boy you killed was guilty.  He was scared—"

"Oh, please," Hamilton rolled his eyes, "every man is scared when faced with death.  Except you, because you're— ugh!— never mind.  But even you, even me, we're afraid.  Don't pin it on me when I was reacting out of an adrenaline rush, fear for that woman.  What do you think her relation was to those men?  You think she just happened upon this druggie safe house for war criminals and decided, 'oh, hey, I should smoke weed with a house full of men—'"

"Alexander," Laurens said slowly.  "We don't know.  And we'll never know, now that they're all dead.”

"I get it, I suck.  Drop it.” He stopped and sighed, pushing off of the counter and moving across the kitchen.  Hamilton searched the kitchen cabinets mindlessly and continued, "Why do we always do this?"

"Do what?"

"Kill more than we arrest," he muttered, "God.  Washington is going to have our asses, I swear.  This is the third time in two months that we haven't left anyone alive.  But they don't fire us," he sighed, "Why?"

"Why?" Laurens repeated, startled by the question.  He, too, moved away from the counter and towards Hamilton.  "Because, at least, we get the job done."

"Kill the worst of the worst," Hamilton muttered, hopping up to sit on the counter.  He heaved a long breath, reaching his arms out to beckon Laurens to him.  "They're bad people, we kill them.  No hesitation."

Laurens stood between his legs, putting his hand on the tops of Hamilton's thighs and looking up at him sadly.  "That's what we have to do, right?"

"Sure," he stopped again and touched the side of Laurens' face, quickly pulling away as though he had been electrocuted and turning his head so that he didn't have to face the awkward moment.  "Sorry," he added.  

"1820," Laurens mumbled.

"What?"

"Bet's still on.  Still say 1820," he sighed and pulled away, looking out the old glass windows and watching the raindrops still pour consistently.  "We'll find out back at the office."

"You're on."


	2. Don’t Be Moronic

"Please, give me a break," Hamilton rolled his eyes, crossing his arms and leaning back in his office chair.  Washington have a disapproving glare. "John's not dangerous."

"The man has a good heart," Washington speculated, "but, if he has one flaw, it's his heedless— to say the least— attitude.  The two of you get into so much trouble, I hardly believe that I should allow you to continue on like this.”

"Your excellency," Hamilton sat up, looking him dead in the eyes.  He didn't have to utter a single word for Washington to get the message.

"Alexander, I have exerted warning after warning.  You cannot be allowed to continue like this.  Greene thinks—"

"Oh, fuck Greene!" 

"Alex," Washington said sternly, "watch your tone.  Greene is your superior, just as I am your superior.  What decisions and conclusions we come to, we make fully out of the intent to protect you, Laurens, and all of the other Aides.  And let me tell you, Alex, when we are doing these operations—"

"—We're protecting the public, yeah, whatever," Hamilton spat, leaning back again carelessly.  "Sir, you insult me.  When I took this job— when Laurens took this job— we knew what we were getting into.  It's dangerous, yes, but what sacrifices do we make to protect what's right, huh?"

"The sacrifices do not include unnecessarily risking your life—"

"I am more than willing to die for this!  This cause, this life, I am putting myself in the way of fire to exterminate those who disrupt our freedom, our—"

"Hamilton," Washington cut him off, his time making it clear that there would be hell to pay if he were to interrupt again.  "Alex," his voice was all but gentle, "what of Laurens?  If you continue this, are you willing to let him die as well?"

"Don't— don't make it sound like it's my fault!"  Hamilton stood abruptly, the wood chair scraping across the floor.  He slammed his hands down on the desk and raised his voice, "John is his own man and I can't stop him from making the choices he makes!  And he won't die!  He's a stupid, reckless moron but he won't die!"

"Son, sit down and watch your—"

"I will not sit down, and I am not your son!"

"Go.  Cool down and if you speak to me like this again, I will have no choice but to suspend you from working until further notice."

"Sir—"

"Leave, Hamilton. Right now."

Hamilton blinked and squeezed his fists, pulling away from the desk and looking away. "Fine," He muttered.  "I'll talk to John. I’ll fucking tell him to stop being suicidal and depressed, is that what you want me to do?"

Washington rolled his eyes, though Hamilton didn't look back to see it.  He left the room— suppressing the urge to slam the door shut— and was met face-to-face with McHenry.  He let out a startled yelp and turned away.

"Hammie," McHenry began, reaching out for his arm.  "You good, man?"

"Fine," he shrugged, leaving and walking down the hall of the office building.  He was angry to have been yelled at by his boss, especially on his day-off when he was called in.  And just for this stupid conversation!  Besides, what authority did Washington have to bring up Laurens like that?  He and Laurens were adults, they didn't need to be supervised like children.

Hamilton, after having a momentary panic, unable to find his metro card in his wallet— though he soon found it behind his ID— went down to the subway to take the train to Columbia.  His first thought was of Burr.  Perhaps he could rant to him about this situation?  Burr was level-headed and quiet, it was perfect!  Like ranting to a mannequin!

But, Burr was salty right now.  He hasn't made anything clear to Hamilton that he was upset, but James McHenry had told him about Burr being upset.  He was just envious, really, of Hamilton's position with Washington.  Not that it bothered Hamilton at all; in his eyes, he worked hard for this position.  While secretary work was boring, no doubt, this gave him brownie points with everybody else who worked under "the Revolution," as they called it.  It made him feel somewhat secure in his job.  Like Laurens; Laurens was secure.  Everyone knew who his father was so, of course, he had a certain— what one might say, nepotistical— status. 

So, instead of ranting to Burr, Hamilton made his way uptown to where Laurens' apartment was.  He was, luckily, not far from the university that Hamilton attends.  Burr goes to Princeton— or, went, since he put it aside for work.  Work in the "Continental Army".  While he could afford to do that and come back to college later, Hamilton couldn't.  So he juggled Washington's Secretary work, college, and being a secret agent.  It was sort of a thrill.  Although being in the agency didn't pay a whole lot, he met friends who could help him whenever needed.  College was nearly over anyway, he was about to enter his second to last semester.  

Laurens already went to college, in London.  Though, Hamilton never asked much about it.  He knew that Laurens likely wouldn't tell.  He didn't like to talk about any of his past which, to be fair, was Hamilton's issue as well.

Hamilton pressed the buzzer so that Laurens could let him in.  He responded after a moment, and Hamilton quickly made his way up.

"Couldn't've texted, first?" Laurens asked lazily, standing in the doorway.

"It would look like a booty call, then," Hamilton shrugged.  "Can I come in?"

"Yeah, whatever, it's not like I'm doing anything," Laurens yawned, opening the door wide.  Hamilton stepped in and sighed.

"Look, I need to talk to you.”

Laurens let out a short, indifferent laugh as he closed his apartment door.  "What about?"

"Work?"

"Ugh, but today is your day off!" Laurens complained, wrapping his arms around the shorter man's waist and, without thinking, kissing his forehead.  Hamilton pulled away, a bit confused.

"What was that for?"

"What was what for?" Laurens asked.

"You just— I dunno, Laurens, it was just— sweet, I guess," he said a bit uncomfortably.

"It was just a gesture, Laf kisses everyone on the cheeks, why can’t I kiss you?" he answered, looking the slightest bit hurt but Hamilton shrugged it off.  He cleared his voice and walked to sit at Laurens’ small kitchen table.

Hamilton let out a long, strained breath.  He motioned for Laurens to come sit as well, but seeing as Laurens was staying out, he just sighed.  "So, Washington—"

"Can we not talk about him?"

"Why?"

"...He kills the mood," Laurens admitted.  Hamilton stood back up and moved towards his friend— lover—his... whatever.

"I'm sorry if I put you off— didn't mean to question you, it was just random, okay?" Hamilton whispered, his hands on Laurens' chest.  He was wearing a tight black tee and sweatpants, blond hair messy and full of volume like he just discovered pomade and accidentally left it in for a few days.  Hamilton, on the other hand, had a nice jacket and work pants.  

"Yeah, okay,"  Laurens breathed.  His hands touched Alexander's sides, gently moving down over his hips.  Hamilton couldn't help himself.  He leaned up and pulled John into a kiss, unwilling to break away as they moved up against one another.  Any friction was good— as long as they could both get what they wanted.  

Laurens moved a hand up and down Hamilton's thigh until he cupped him, grabbing holding lightly through the fabric of the pants.  He could tell that Hamilton was getting hard and the thought turned him on even more.  So, as he palmed him, Laurens kissed Hamilton's neck and pressed his free hand up against Hamilton's back to keep him where he wanted him— right up against his body.

"Mm, John," Hamilton couldn't control himself from letting out a squeak as he moved backwards, still latched onto Laurens.  He had his arms around him, clutching onto his shirt.  They made their way to the bedroom and fell backwards onto Laurens' bed, bodies still attached lazily.  "John.”

"Hm?" he hummed, looking up from Hamilton's neck, his arms still holding him close as he laid on top of him on the bed.  This much intimacy with Hamilton was... exhilarating.  It gave him an adrenaline rush and, God, he couldn't stop.

Hamilton didn't say anything more, he simply made a weak, pleading noise as he moved his hands under Laurens' shirt to try and pull it off.  Laurens hated to let go of Hamilton, thus taking away the brief intimate hugging, but he did so anyway so he could strip.  Hamilton followed, unbuttoning his own shirt and yanking off the tie, tossing it aside. He desperately pulled off his belt and then his pants, about to pull off his boxers as well when he saw Laurens get off the bed. Hamilton felt the impulse to grab him and hold him back but just felt his breath catch in his throat.  The two men were only in their underwear at this point, and Laurens was going to the dresser for lube.

"Chill," Laurens whispered, sounding a touch more seductive than he had intended, "lube, condom.”

"Right, right," Hamilton mumbled.  He decided to just wait for Laurens to take off his underwear for him.

"You must want this so badly," Laurens teased, going back to the mattress and towering over Hamilton.  "Can't fuck anyone but me for two months."

"Fuck off," Hamilton grunted weakly, (he had lost the bet— it turned out that the house was a mere two years closer to Laurens’ betted date than his) his hands hungrily moving to touch every bit of Laurens' body he could, squeezing and holding on.  "It was a two year difference, and—" He felt Laurens palming him again and he closed his eyes, "mmn, you're just a cocky asshole, aren't you?"

"I feel like there's a connection between those two words, but I'm sure you can figure it out," Laurens smirked.

"Ugh— I was really hoping you'd lose the bet."

"Why? You want me to be faithful, Alex?"

"What? I never said that,” Hamilton quickly said.  His cheeks were red— whether from the heat of the moment, or the embarrassment, he couldn’t have been sure— so he quickly turned it around and wrapped his legs around Laurens' thighs, moving his hands down his back and into his boxers.  "I just like seeing you so desperate for me, Laurens... sex is the best after edging for so long."

"You're insatiable.  Even if you won the bet, nothing is enough for you.”

"I object—" Hamilton began, but Laurens quickly kissed him to shut him up.  Hamilton couldn't help but kiss back. After a moment, Hamilton tugged adamantly on Laurens' underwear. He took them off and kicked them off the bed, coercing his partner to do the same. As soon as they were both naked, Hamilton flipped their position and got on top of Laurens. He pulled his legs apart and immediately put his mouth on the head of Laurens' cock.

"Fuck— Alex," he closed his eyes and gasped as Hamilton began to pull away, "shit, don't stop."

So, he kept going. He held on to Laurens' thighs, sucking on his member and doing so without rest. Laurens closed his eyes.

"I-I'm going to cum— fuck, Alex—" he warned, panting slightly. Hamilton quickly took his mouth off and Laurens ejaculated, eyes still closed.

Hamilton wiped himself up with a loose end of the sheets on Laurens' bed and breathed deeply. He made a mental note to shower in a while, but for the time being he just collapsed next to Laurens with a satisfied grin.

"You can't go a day without sex," Laurens breathed. 

Hamilton laughed. "Bet. Totally can. Maybe it's just too good to not," he paused and smirked, though Laurens wasn't looking at him, "you're the same way, John. What was it you called me— insatiable? Fuck, you say I'm insatiable? You made that bet knowing how I am when I edge. God, you're going to get so much action with me in these two months... we’ll be so exhausted from it, but I know you're gonna like it."

"God, that sounds perverse," Laurens commented, rolling onto his stomach and hugging his pillow. Hamilton laughed again.

"I know you're going to like it—" he put his hand on Laurens' back cautiously, "—because I know you love when I'm desperate for you. Am I wrong, Dear Laurens?" Hamilton paused so he could flip over as well, moving his face close to his partner's, though not too close, "I'll be at your apartment every night and you'll happily comply... ‘cause I know you. You can’t resist me."

"Mmn," Laurens made a small, noncommittal hum. He pushed up from the bed. "I'm gonna shower."

"I sucked your dick, I call showering first," Hamilton argued, jumping up and running out of the bedroom first. Laurens sighed and flopped back onto the bed.

Later, after both of them were separately showered and half-dressed, they sat on Laurens' couch lazily. Hamilton put down his phone and cursed himself as he realized that he still needed to talk to Laurens about Washington's threat.

"John," he began, unsure how to go from there. Laurens looked up patiently so he just winged it: "When I got called in today, Washington gave me a whole damn lecture about how stupid we've been lately.”

Laurens snorted, rolling his eyes. Hamilton went on:

"So he said if we slip up again he'll fire us. Or suspend us, hell if I know. But either way, not good."

"So, what'd'ya want me to do about it?" Laurens raised an eyebrow.

"Hell— I don't know, Laur, figure it out. Stop being reckless? Shit. I just can't lose this job, okay? John? ...Okay?" Hamilton groaned when Laurens wasn't answering, so he slapped him on the arm. 

"Ow! What?" Laurens whined, grabbing his arm and muttering, "that hurt, you dick."

"Sorry. Listen to me when I talk, damn. Don't zone out mid-conversation. Anyway, point is, I cannot get fired. And I cannot get relocated from you," he sighed, "everyone else sucks."

Laurens gave him an odd look. "Not true," he said, "we talked about this in the car last night, actually. You like Meade, yeah? And McHenry is cool— him, Lafayette, and shit, I can even deal with Jean Ternant. Y’know that French dude? Legit had no papers and probably snuck into the country? Yeah. I like him, he’s cool."

"So?" Hamilton appeared offended that Laurens seemed so nonchalant about the threat of not being partners any longer. "You're the least annoying! Plus blowjobs, but you're great anyway.”

"Uh-huh... sure.”

"I mean, I like you a lot, Laurens," he shrugged, "sorry if that sounded awkward.”

"Don't sweat it. But I can't make any promises—"

"John."

“Jesus, fine! I won’t die on purpose.”

“John...”

“I won’t.”

Hamilton forced himself to smile. He leaned forward and left a lingering kiss on Laurens’ cheek. “Good.”


	3. F*cking British Terrorists

"Job tonight," Hamilton half-complained to Laurens, staring at the small flip phone and not touching his food, "you're in, right?"

"When am I not in?"  Laurens said.

Hamilton sighed, "Washington is sending McHenry with us."

"McHenry?  We're not children, we don't need to be supervised," Laurens said with a tad of aggression.  Hamilton nodded in agreement but went on anyhow:

"Pisses me off, too.  But hopefully, it'll make things go more smoothly.  I don't need to be out 'till two in the freaking morning again.  That sucked."

Laurens snorted. "Right, right.  Not our fault that the computer took forever to run the house through the system, " he paused, "still, winning that bet was 100% worth it."

"You just love to watch me suffer, don't you? It's been four days and the only person I've got any action from is you," he paused, "At least your apartment isn't too far away."

"Yeah, so you can booty call me at two AM instead of working, I get that... and I'm totally down with it, too.”

"Well, you don't have to study for tests in between blowing people's heads off."

Laurens chuckled and sighed.  "Fine, whatever.  Point taken.  Maybe I should go over to your dorm at two AM and suck your dick while you write essays."

Hamilton set his phone down on the table and glared at Laurens.  He opened his mouth to retaliate, then closed it since he could find neither denial nor witty comments to say to that threat.  It was a pretty good threat.  So, Hamilton settled with a quiet, "Fuck off," while making careful steps to avoid saying "Fuck you."

"Mm.  Whatever,"  Laurens rolled his eyes and took his personal phone out.  "Yeah, I'm in tonight."

Hamilton nodded, getting up from the table.  "Right.  I have an essay to write," he stopped to watch Laurens' wry smile, "...so I'll be at the dorms.  Thanks for having me over to— y'know.  Uh, McHenry will text you the details.  See ya, bye, " he added quietly.  Laurens nodded, his snarky expression gone— although he himself barely noticed— as he waved lazily to Hamilton.  

"See you," he mumbled as Hamilton nodded to him, leaving his apartment. Laurens glanced back over to Hamilton's uneaten slice of pizza and sighed. He mumbled to himself, "I buy him lunch and he doesn't even stay to finish it," as he stood to take care of the plate he added, "figures. Jackass."

• • •

While Hamilton had half-expected Laurens to text or call (or even just show up at his dorm) he hadn't. He couldn't tell if he was glad or not— he thought he could get more work done without Laurens around, but then again, his constant thoughts of him stopped Hamilton from getting the work he needed done, done. And now it was almost nine o'clock and he had to be at the office.

"Fucking John," he muttered to himself, pushing away from his desk and closing his laptop. He got up and grabbed his bag, getting ready to take the subway back to the office. Hamilton left a note for his dorm mate, who was currently out anyway. "Out, might be staying with boyfriend tonight," the note read. Hamilton had quickly added, "don't eat my thin mint yogurt, Bobby. I'll cut you."

The boyfriend part was a half-lie. His roommate was usually out and to avoid explaining his weird friends-with-benefits vibe with Laurens, he just wrote boyfriend. In fact, he had hesitated to write the word at all. The thought frightened him for inexplainable reasons. Not because he wanted to be able to sleep around or that he didn't like Laurens, it was just too fast right now. They met only several months prior.

Satisfied with the note (though not his essay) Hamilton had a peaceful subway ride. He had his earbuds in, playing an audio recording of one of his textbooks so he could memorize the lesson. 

"Hey, Hammie," Hamilton was greeted with a friendly slap on his shoulder when he arrived, taking the elevator up to Washington's office. 

"Hey, Ben," he answered stiffly. 

Benjamin Tallmadge noticed the cold tone but decided against asking about it. "You going on a job tonight?"

"Yeah," Hamilton nodded.

"It's a little young in the night," Tallmadge observed, "but not too young. Tell Laurens I said hello, by the way— this is my stop," Tallmadge motioned to the elevator door as it dinged on the third floor, leaving Hamilton behind by himself as he began the ascent to the fourth floor.

When he was at last in Washington's office— Laurens giving him a playful grin and crossing his arms, meanwhile McHenry seemed a bit more reserved— they were given the basic run-down of the situation. 

"Two men and a woman from the UK," Laurens yawned, nudging Hamilton as they left the building. "At least they'll speak English.”

"Laurens, we all legit speak like, six different languages," Hamilton pointed out, getting in the back seat of the car. McHenry took the driver's seat and Laurens the passenger. "I don't see the problem.”

"You know what I mean.”

"Mhm," Hamilton turned his attention to McHenry. "How about you, Micky-H?"

"Don't call me that," he pleaded.

Hamilton went on anyway. "Washington says they have to be alive."

Laurens groaned a bit at this. "But what if one of them shoots at us?"

"If it's them versus us," McHenry began, "then we have no choice. But that's why we have tranquilizers.”

"I don't know why we have to have three people," Hamilton grumbled from the backseat. Laurens glared at him and told him to buckle his seat belt, so he did.

"Three agents, three criminals," McHenry said.

Laurens rolled his eyes, scoffing, "Oh, please. I could take all three by myself."

"Laurens—"

"What? I could," he argued with Hamilton, twisting around to pointedly make his remark, "four nights ago, we took out about eight guys just the two of us. What's the problem?"

"The problem," McHenry interrupted, "is just that you killed eight people! No captives!— you two both have kill-happy, trigger-joy shit going on."

"So what? We got the job done. Our job is to protect the public, and those were dangerous criminals!"

"Laurens," Hamilton warned from the back seat. "I'm afraid he might be—"

"—Don't say it," Laurens interrupted.

"...Right. He might be right," Hamilton fidgeted. "We should maybe try not to kill everyone we see.”

"What, like that girl from the last job?!" Laurens twisted around again.

"Don't bring that up, that has nothing to do with it!"

"You got her killed," Laurens spat, pointing an accusing finger, "not me!"

"Are you kidding me?!" 

Laurens gritted his teeth.  "Alex, you just shot that boy without preamble, and I was trying to deescalate the situation.  We could've had a captive and two, alive people.  That boy wasn't even on our list!"

"How would I have known that?! It was dim!"

"Check the goddamn list for once!  As agents, it is our duty to deescalate situations and handle things with less bias than the police—"

"As agents, we don't negotiate with terrorists," Hamilton spat.

"Oh, so you can call them terrorists, but I—?!"

"Ladies!" McHenry growled, making Laurens snap back to facing frontwards and crossing his arms.  "Stop your bickering.  I can't deal with you two.”

"Shut up," Laurens muttered, sinking a bit lower in his seat. Hamilton just huffed and pulled out his phone.

"Ham, put that away," McHenry commanded. "You can't have your phone on during a job.”

"Yeah, whatever," he mumbled, shutting down the smartphone and putting it in his pocket and going to look at the file instead. "You're not my dad, Micky-H."

"Please stop calling me that," McHenry sighed heavily once more, focusing on the road. They drove for a while until they came to an apartment building in a shitty looking part town. 

"Toto, we're not in New York anymore," Hamilton mumbled, glancing around at the streets outside. "Damn, it's like the Chicago version of Brooklyn.”

Laurens laughed. "We're in the Bronx."

"That explains it."

After a beat of silence between the three— while McHenry parked the car in an alleyway— Hamilton finally spoke up.

"We're leaving the car here?" 

McHenry shrugged. "Take your valuables. This car looks shitty anyways, nobody wants it," he sighed and glanced around, "there's barely anyone here anyway. Plus, it's almost ten.”

"Like Tallmadge said, it's really early in the night to be doing this," Hamilton muttered and opened the car door, "alright, let's go in there, arrest them, and leave quickly.”

"So eager," McHenry pointed out.

"I have a paper due tomorrow and I'd really like to get back to proofread that, thank you." 

Laurens almost made a remark about how he must've had plenty of time, but decided against it. McHenry was their friend but Laurens was still halfway in the closet. He wasn't sure why. Part of him wondered if Hamilton had broken the pact to not sleep with anyone else for two months. When the thought arose, sparking jealousy, he quickly doused the flames within him and got out of the car. Instead of commenting on it, he said something else. "It's already past your bedtime, Alex."

"Oh, fuck off," Hamilton rolled his eyes, handing the file to McHenry to put in his backpack. They made sure they had what they needed— weapons, handcuffs, and their phones— and approached the back of the building via fire escape. 

As they climbed, Laurens couldn't hold his tongue. McHenry was far enough away so he had to get it out.

"So, why didn't you get your work done?" he asked quietly. Hamilton looked up at him, at his shiny black boots as they climbed above him. He let out a nervous laugh and looked away. "Alex?" 

"Do you polish your boots?" Hamilton avoided the question.

"Shut up— yeah," Laurens said, leaning down to assist Hamilton up the rusty stairs. Hamilton shook the help away, looked down at his gun. "Did you break the bet?"

"What? No," Hamilton answered quickly, making Laurens suspicious. When he sensed this he went on, "John, I wouldn't.”

"Then why didn't you get your work done?"

"Damn, is every detail of my life your personal business?" Hamilton snarked, moving a bit faster up the stairs to pass Laurens and catch up with McHenry. Laurens guiltily sulked behind and pushed back the feelings again. He hurried to get to the floor where McHenry was trying to pry open a window and Hamilton parallel, leaning against the old metal railing of the fire escape with an indifferent, but somewhat amused, look in his eyes.

"Just break it," Laurens suggested, leaning next to Hamilton. The railing let out a small squeak and he warily put less pressure on it.

"Don't be stupid, Laurens," McHenry grunted, "let's just... ugh, I don't know.”

"Break the window," Laurens urged once more.  Hamilton sighed and pushed McHenry out of the way.  He motioned Laurens over and instructed him to pull up when he breaks the lock. Hamilton dug out a small metal pin from his bag and picked the lock, beckoning the other two to be quiet while he did so, listening intently for the clicks. At last, it was unlocked, and Laurens pulled the window up.

"No need to break it," Hamilton said, tossing the pin aside and not watching as it fell down the fire escape. 

"How'd you do that?"  McHenry asked.  Hamilton shrugged.

"Yeah, Alex, since when do you know how to pick locks?"  Laurens joined in.  Hamilton rolled his eyes and motioned them into the apartment, holding the window up. "I'll stay out here."

"What?" Hamilton questioned sharply, in the apartment and leaning out the window. 

"Keep watch. You two can take care of it."

"John, that's not in the plan," Hamilton argued helplessly, glancing back at McHenry who was indifferent to the conversation.

"Fuck the plan," Laurens hissed, and looked around nervously. "Look, you two are better off without me anyway. Just go.”

"John."

"Go, Alex. I'm fine.” 

Hamilton sighed, defeated, and quickly leaned further out of the window when he made sure that McHenry wasn't watching. He beckoned Laurens closer, grabbing him by the collar of his jacket and pulling him down. He quickly kissed him, whispering against his lips softly, "Okay.”

"Okay, what?" Laurens asked softly, lips brushing over Hamilton's as his jacket collar was still in Hamilton's fist. He realized after a second what he meant and replied quietly, "oh."

"Yeah," Hamilton began to pull away but Laurens brought him into another quick kiss.

"Be careful," Laurens said. Hamilton nodded and pulled away for real, releasing his grip on Laurens' collar. 

"I will," he made his way back through the window and Laurens hesitated, but ultimately whispered: 

"Wait."

"Yeah?" Hamilton looked back up curiously.

"Uh, don't do anything I wouldn't do," he smiled a little, "that is to say, anything I wouldn't do includes dying. So don't do that.”

Hamilton grinned. "Gotcha.”

"Yeah."

So Laurens waited outside on the fire escape, the air a bit chilly though his gloves kept him warm. He wanted to take his phone out and keep himself busy, but that wasn't allowed. They weren't allowed to have any sort of device, especially smart phone, that could track their whereabouts and put them at the scene. Especially in messier cases where it was likely to include death. So Laurens, humming to himself and looking up at the dull sky, waited. There weren't any stars in the city. This upset him. He hated the noise of the city and the way you couldn't even enjoy nature properly— but, he stayed in the city still. For a few reasons, of course. 

First of all would have to be Hamilton. He moved back to America to escape life and was going to go back to London again, or maybe even South Carolina or Geneva, but Hamilton convinced him to stay. He had only known him for a few months but damn, he sure didn't want to leave.

The second reason would be work. His father knew vaguely of his work as a spy— he knew far less than he thought— and was allowed to stay. Encouraged, possibly. But at the very least, allowed. Laurens' work was important to him. He felt as though he were making a difference in the world. Helping people, just like he always wanted to. He's not a politician or a lawyer or even a doctor. He's an agent, and he's like a superhero. Laurens' little brother always loved super heroes growing up. Laurens felt like he was making James proud (though James didn't know what kind of work his brother was really into), the title of a police officer was fine enough.

And then, one of the most appealing characteristics of the city was how easily he could blend. Nobody cared who he was here. Nobody cared that he was the son of a congressman or some wealthy, over-achieving young man, they didn't even notice. He was just John Laurens— and he felt like he could fit in. Fit in by hiding in plain sight.

Laurens made a small, startled noise as Hamilton and McHenry emerged from the window, shoving along with them three hostages— one woman, two men— who were cuffed. Laurens quickly seized the woman to lighten the load for the other two men. They all began down the fire escape. 

"He's unconscious," Hamilton mumbled to Laurens, motioning at the man he was trying to drag along. 

"What happened?" Laurens asked curiously.

"This asshole wouldn't shut up. Shot the tranq at him and the other two brits decided to comply. Luckily we made it out alive.”

"What? What's that supposed to mean?" Laurens raised his eyebrows as Hamilton shoved the unconscious man in the back of the van. He coaxed the woman and the other man into the way back seats with the incapacitated man. 

"Nothing," Hamilton answered, "I'm fine. It's just— the loud one had a knife."

"What? Are you okay?" he asked quickly. McHenry was in the front seat of the car, texting back to HQ to tell them that they were set. Hamilton shook his head weakly. That's when Laurens noticed his left hand clutched over his side. "Shit, Alex!"

"What?" Hamilton said nonchalantly, then glanced down at his bloodied hand. "Oh."

"Jesus Christ, did you take the knife out? Idiot. You know you’re not supposed to,” he growled, springing his arms forward to see the wound. He grabbed a flashlight out of his bag and checked it, eyebrows furrowed. Hamilton pushed him away.

"Yeah, I'm fine, John. We need to get back quickly, we can check it out there," he sighed and moved away, going around to the passenger seat of the car. Laurens got in the middle row of seats, the three criminals behind him, and buckled up. He told Hamilton to do the same.

"Fuck, Alex," McHenry muttered as they drove. "You sure you're fine?"

"Yeah, just peachy," he mumbled and shifted in his seat, moving his hand off of his side to examine the blood on his fingers. He quickly put it back. "I'll be fine. It hurt more initially. Right now I feel kinda numb.”

"Compress it," Laurens said quickly, taking off his coat and passing it up to Hamilton. "Use my jacket to stop the bleeding.”

"This is why we should've had some damn first aid kits in the van," McHenry muttered. Hamilton pressed the balled up jacket against his side, wincing but hiding it. 

"Ya think we would've learned our lesson last time, huh?" Hamilton joked, glancing back at Laurens and eying his shoulder. Laurens self-consciously looked away, his gaze falling upon that of the woman's behind him. She looked away, teeth clenched. Smart woman— she knew there was no point in arguing now.

When they got back to the office building, it now being around midnight, Laurens immediately dragged Hamilton to the small medical ward on the second floor, leaving McHenry to take the three criminals into incarceration on the basement level, where they could be interrogated before being either deported or executed.

Laurens pushed Hamilton against the wall and began pulling his backpack, then jacket, then shirt off. Hamilton argued a little here and there as Laurens forced him to sit on one of the beds, immediately rushing over to the cabinets to find something to clean the stab wound with. The blood around it had dried a bit and it was no longer actively bleeding.

"Dammit, where are all of the doctors?" Laurens muttered to himself. He raised his voice, "Doctor! We need a doctor!"

"John," Hamilton pleaded a little. "I'm fine. If you know how to clean it, just do it."

Laurens sighed and shook his head. "No. I'll go find a nurse or doctor or whatever."

As he turned to leave, Hamilton flopped back onto the bed which had a thin paper-covered surface. He sighed in defeat when Laurens returned to the room thirty or so seconds later, tugging a woman with him. 

"Doctor Schuyler," she said, nodding to Hamilton. 

"Alexander Hamilton," he paused and looked up, pointing weakly, "—and that's John Laurens."

"What the hell did you do?"

"I slipped," Hamilton with faux gravity. She rolled her eyes and pulled on some gloves. "Hey, Peggy, right?"

"Right," She muttered, instructing Laurens to put on gloves as well as she grabbed a bit of gauze, covering it in saline. She then pushed Hamilton back so he was laying down, making access to the stab wound easier. "You were on a job, I assume?"

"Yeah," Laurens answered for him. "The idiot got stabbed."

"Don't you even, Laurens. I was one of the nurses treating you when you got shot in the shoulder," Peggy said, shooting him a glare and patting the wound gently with the gauze to clean it. "Good news, it's a shallow stab in your mid left lumbar region and luckily it missed your vital organs."

"Oh, thank God,” Laurens breathed.

"Mhm. If you had gotten stabbed in the, say, kidney or perhaps the descending colon, you would've been in deep shit," she paused and glanced at Laurens, who snorted at the pun as she pressed the gauze against the wound— earning a pained groan from Hamilton— and smirked, "but you weren't."

"Yeah," Hamilton groaned, "lucky me."

"Luckily Laurens here told you to compress it in the car to cease the bleeding. He's a good friend, Hamilton.”

"Great friend," Hamilton smirked at him a little and Laurens looked away. Peggy didn't notice this, luckily, and she motioned Laurens over.

"Laurens, hold the gauze there. I'll get some clean gauze, then we'll wrap it up with a bandage.”

"Will this impair me from working?" Hamilton asked as Peggy's hand on his abdomen was replaced with Laurens'. 

Peggy mumbled as she left the room to fetch bandages, "We can only hope so.”

Hamilton sighed and looked back to Laurens. Laurens just stood there, holding the gauze. Hamilton smirked at him. "Hey there, hot stuff.”

"Don't."

"Doctor Laurens."

"Alex,"

"Nurse Jacky.” He smirked, earning a snort from Laurens. 

"Fuck off," Laurens said. 

Hamilton smiled, putting his arms behind his head to support himself. Laurens flicked his eyes over his toned body and looked away with a slight blush. 

"Like something ya see, Nurse Jacky?" he asked teasingly. There was a moment of silence before Peggy returned with the new bandages. She silently folded up a square of new gauze and put it over the wound (tossing the soiled one into a biohazard waste by the edge of the bed) and then had Hamilton sit up so she could wrap the bandage around him several times. She taped it off and Laurens returned to the room with a new shirt (Hamilton not noticing he left, as he began talking to Peggy about poetry for whatever reason) and he threw the shirt at Hamilton.

"Thanks," Hamilton said, puckering his lips teasingly when Peggy wasn't paying attention and slipping the shirt on. "—And thank you, nurse P."

"Please don't call me that," Peggy groaned. "You can go now."

"Right, right," he slid off the bed and grabbed his other shirt and jacket, Laurens' as well, and allowed Laurens to take his backpack. They left the medical ward and took the elevator downstairs, dropping off their backpacks in the office, not bothering to stop in with Washington and clock out. They had to leave their backpacks since they, of course, had illegal firearms in them.

"So, John," Hamilton looked up at him expectantly as they stood outside on the sidewalk. "Can I come over?"

"Don't you have a paper to write?"

"Screw the paper," he said, pausing and adding, "and you. I'm tired and horny and you're the only person I can get anything from, so...?"

"Jesus. You got stabbed and you want to come over to have sex?"

"Bingo."

"You're too much," Laurens sighed as they waited outside for a cab. "If you hadn't gotten stabbed, we could've been at my place sooner.”

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that. Fuckin' British terrorists," Hamilton joked. Laurens nodded slowly, spacing out a bit.

"Yeah..."


	4. Donuts & Sex

Hamilton found himself first stumbling into Laurens' apartment, then being pushed against the wall, then coaxed into the bedroom and told to strip. He watched carefully as Laurens took off his own shirt and then his black cargo pants (which he usually wore on a job) and then his boots and socks. By the time he had locked the several locks on his apartment door, shut off the kitchen light, and come back into the bedroom, Hamilton was in his boxers smiling fiendishly at Laurens.

The freckled-faced man let out a small laugh and crawled onto the bed, his hand moving to cup Hamilton through the thin fabric of his underwear as he kissed his neck. Laurens' lips then made their way down his stomach and by accident, his hand slipped off of Hamilton's shoulder and touched his bandages. Hamilton yelped on instinct, pushing Laurens away.

"Shit, my bad, I'm sorry," Laurens whispered, pulling Hamilton back towards him. "Sorry,"

"Don't," Hamilton said firmly, "it's fine, I'm fine, it just startled me,"

"Right, sorry," he apologized again softly, going back to kissing Hamilton's stomach. He held onto his thighs and pulled him closer, putting his mouth over the dark spot forming on the front of Hamilton's boxers. Laurens pulled his head up just to tease him. "Damn, Alex, you're tenting,"

"S-Shut up," Hamilton slurred, his fingernails digging into the sheets of Laurens' bed as Laurens sucked on his clothed member gently. Teasing, he knew it just as well as Laurens did. It was painful and made him even more desperate. "John,"

"Mhm?"

"Please, please," he repeated without meaning to, "John, just stop teasing and get on with it,"

Laurens obliged, pulling down Hamilton's boxers and immediately going to put his mouth on his member. Hamilton yelped in surprise, reaching up and grabbing Laurens' curly hair as if by instinct.

"So, what do you want me to do?" Laurens asked softly, his voice cool and smooth as he put his hand on Hamilton's cock. "I can suck you off... fuck you... let you suck me, whatever. You got injured on the job and, to be fair, I'm all you're getting for two months—"

"Yes, you love to remind me," Hamilton cut in, groaning as Laurens continued to fondle him.

"—and I'm sure you're needy. So, what do you want?"

"How n-nice," Hamilton commented then mumbled, stammering, "I-I don't know, John. Just make me cum, I'm dying here and I'm t-too tired to fuck right now," he added softly, one had trailing down Laurens' back, "My stomach hurts. Or abdomen, whatever that word Peggy said, just shit— I got stabbed, can you just jerk me off?"

Laurens laughed a little and kissed Hamilton's thighs. "Could have just asked,"

"I did just ask,"

"No need to snap at me," Laurens mumbled, taking Hamilton's cock back into his mouth and sucking forcefully. He pushed down on Hamilton's thighs to keep him down on the bed, feeling his hand being tugged ever so slightly every now and then by Hamilton, as he squirmed and moaned.

"John," Hamilton mumbled through soft moans, "John. Oh, god, John!" 

Laurens, of course, couldn't say anything so he continued sucking. Hamilton's hips jerked slightly, pushing forward just a bit. Laurens felt this and resisted, not wanting to gag and puke. Hamilton, still, couldn't help the jerks.

"Fuck. Fuck, John. Holy shit," Hamilton moaned. "I'm gonna cum, y-you should— fuck," he hissed as Laurens pulled away just in time, letting Hamilton's hot seed shoot onto the bed as he unraveled, collapsing backwards. Laurens got up, turned off the lamp in the corner, and sat back down on the bed.  He then fell next to Hamilton, hugging his own pillow. "Hey... Do you want me to get you off, too?"

"No, it's fine," Laurens mumbled. "I'm exhausted,"

"Mmn— maybe tomorrow, then," Hamilton answered softly, pulling the covers up and curling into fetal position.  "Should I shower?"

"Don't bother.  It's almost one AM," 

"'Kay."

For a while they laid there in silence.  Then Hamilton shifted in bed, getting closer to Laurens.  

"What is it?"  Laurens looked up, eyes heavy already.  He was definitely a heavy sleeper.

"Nothing, just..." Hamilton trailed off and touched the side of Laurens' face, pulling him into a kiss.  Immediately, Laurens noticed that it felt different than other kisses.  Then Hamilton's hand slipped off of his cheek and over his neck gently, making its way down to his shoulder, chest, abs, and then hips.  Laurens shuddered into the kiss, putting his own hands on Hamilton's waist to pull him in closer.  They were in  one another's arms for a moment, sharing the slow, warm comfort of one another's lips, when Laurens pulled away.

"What, ah— What was that?"  He managed to ask, stumbling on his words slightly in shock.  Their hands stayed still on one another's bodies.  It was warm under the covers of Laurens' bed.  

Hamilton blinked. "Nothing, just, for earlier, y'know," he lowered his eyes bashfully, "for not dying,"

Laurens laughed a little but then realized Hamilton was serious.  He quickly stopped and kissed him again.  "You promised me that, though,"

"And I didn't die.  So you better not ever die either," Hamilton insisted, cheeks hot.  He could almost feel his blood boiling though he was sure why.

"I won't," Laurens answered instantly.  He was taken off guard by Hamilton's anger.  As he pulled him just a bit closer, so that they were almost kissing again, he mumbled, "I won't,"

"Good.  And keep it that way," Hamilton nuzzled his face into Laurens' neck, then shifted and brought himself down so that he was snuggling against his chest.  Laurens was, again, caught off-guard.

"You're being very clingy, I think you're on your period," Laurens joked lightly to Hamilton, who didn't care for the comment.  "Or maybe you're just deprived.  Since you can't fuck anyone else,"

"Stop reminding me," Hamilton mumbled, his voice slightly muffled against Laurens' chest.  "Night, John,"

Laurens nodded slowly, putting his arms around the other man and sighing.  "Night, Alex,"

• • •

In the morning, Laurens was already awake and showered and making coffee.  Hamilton made a startled noise when he woke up naked and alone, but got up regardless with the sheet wrapped around his body.  It was a bit cold in the mornings.

"Morning," Laurens said to him, leaning on the counter with a mug of coffee.  Hamilton glanced out the window, where the sun was already up.

"Shit, John, what time is it?"

"Nine AM," Laurens said, "I wanted to let you sleep in.  You suck at sleeping,"

"Yeah, whatever.  I have to turn my paper in by noon," he mumbled to himself then called to Laurens, "I'm gonna shower real quick,"

"Yup,"

Hamilton made it quick— he dropped the sheet back on the bed, took off his bandages, hopped in the shower, washed his hair and body, then jumped back out without bothering to condition his hair as well.  There was no time for that.  He wrapped one of the towels around his waist and put one in his hair, suddenly realizing as he stepped out of the bathroom that he had no clothes.

"Hey, hottie!"  Laurens called, emerging from the bedroom and tossing him some clothes.  "Did the laundry earlier, downstairs.  Was overdue anyway,"  Hamilton's cheeks turned pink and he took them.

"Thanks," Hamilton said quickly, going to the bedroom to get dressed.  He pulled on his boxers, at the very least, and his shirt.  He wouldn't put on his pants until he actually needed to go out.  

"Did you change your bandages?  I have a first aid kit in the bathroom,"  Laurens said, motioning to the bathroom with his mug of coffee.  Hamilton looked at it enviously, shaking his head and going to reapply his bandages.  

When he finally came out, shirt back on, Laurens slid a mug across the counter for him.  Hamilton sighed and poured himself black coffee, then added a little bit of milk and sugar.  Laurens preferred his with flavored creamer.

"So, stud," Laurens looks him up and down, "you doing okay?"

"Who's asking?"

"Your concerned fuckbuddy," Laurens said dramatically, pushing himself up to sit on the counter.  "You were acting super weird last night, I was wondering if you were running a fever or some'."

"I have an essay to get done before noon," Hamilton's eyes widened, completely ignoring Laurens' accusation, "shit, can I borrow your laptop?  Mine's at the dorm,"

"Yeah, whatever," Laurens sighed.  He laid off while Hamilton logged in and edited his essay for an hour or two.  Instead, he went for a jog, his stomach twisting in knots the more he thought about Hamilton.  He waited all morning, (waking up at around six AM) just to talk to him about it, and that's how he responded.  It made him frustrated to say the least.  He was making his sixth lap around the block when he slammed face-first into somebody.

"Shit, fuck," the man grabbed his forehead, holding it and wincing.  Laurens quickly ignored his own pain to see Lafayette there, stuttering in pain.

"Sorry, Laf," Laurens offered weakly, panting.  He was only in gym shorts and a sweatshirt (since it was fifty degrees) though the jogging kept him warm.  "What are you doing here?"

"I brought donuts," Lafayette said, wincing still and holding up a small bag.  "I came to say good morning,"

"Good morning," Laurens said.  

"Fuck off," Lafayette sighed, rolling his eyes.  "I thought we could have breakfast together,"

Laurens was about to invite him back to his apartment but his eyes widened in remembrance of Hamilton being there.  "You can't show up unannounced to people's houses," Laurens scolded, "but we can go eat these on a park bench somewhere— there's a park down the street,"

"Why not just go back to your apartment where it is warm?" 

"Because the outdoors is good for you,"  Laurens said, already walking towards the concrete park. Lafayette followed with a heavy sigh.  Laurens was pretty good at fibbing.

"How is your shoulder, my friend?" Lafayette asked, reaching into the bag and pulling out a donut.  He offered the bag to Laurens, who took the other one out.  "I got you pumpkin.  'Tis the season, right?"

"Thanks, Laf, but ''Tis the season' refers to Christmas," Laurens teased, biting into the donut.  "It's still fall,"

Lafayette sighed heavily.  "I do not know why you Americans call it, 'Fall',"

"Uh... Because leaves fall?"

"In Europe, we call it Autumn.  Or le Automne in French," he sighed again, dramatically, "do you know why, Laurens, we call it Autumn?"

"It's, uh, Latin, right? Autumnus, I believe.  Possibly from auctumpne, which is more.  No, not more, increase.  Gain.  Whatever... my hunch is that the harvest season was fall," Laurens took another bite, chewed for a moment, and they came to a park bench by a basketball court where some teens played.  "I don't know,"

"Neither do I!" Lafayette exclaimed, "But whatever the reason is, I believe that Autumn should be used in America as well,"

"Hey, don't be xenophobic," 

"Pardon?  I am anything but!"

Laurens laughed.  "It's America, what do you expect?  Leaves fall down and we see it and we're like, 'oh, look!  It's the season of fall!'" 

"I do not know.  I do not mind it, in fact, I might say I admire it.  I definitely admire it.  America dares to be different, and I like that,"

Laurens laughed at first and then took a moment to consider it.  He smiled.  "I guess that's true.  You know what, Lafayette?"

"No, I do not, what?"

"You find the positive in things people usually see as negative," Laurens said, taking another bite, "it's like, y'know, people usually see America's 'diversity' as a dumbed-down, tyrannical nation that makes a façade of patriotism and greatness to appear like a democracy but it's really just a monarchy run by the wealthy fucking cock-suckers who'd rather help themselves than the people who are actually oppressed—" he realized he was getting off track and sighed, "never mind.  Anyway, you find a way to admire it.  That's good, Laf, really,"

"Yes, thank you, I do believe you began to derail a moment there," Lafayette chuckled and leaned back.  "But thank you,"

"You're welcome," Laurens bit the donut again.  "You're a pal, Lafayette,"

"Yes, I know," he said skeptically.  He realized what Laurens was getting at and nodded.  "Yes, thank you,"

Laurens laughed again.  "No problem,"

They sat for a few moments, finishing their donuts, and watching the teens play basketball.  Lafayette was very intrigued and he excitedly turned to Laurens:  "I love watching your American basketball— what's it called, uh, scrimmages?— so dearly,"

"Oh?  Why is that?"

"You play it differently,"

"Laf, it's the same thing.  It wasn't even invented in America, and you have it in France,"

"Oh, I know," Lafayette nodded vigorously, "but you Americans have a certain libido while playing,"

"I don't think you know what that word means," Laurens hid a laugh.  Lafayette looked confused and corrected himself.

"Attitude?"

"Better,"

Lafayette nodded.  "You play with a certain life-or-death attitude.  With all of your sports, even American football and, how you say, soccer.  I do not know why you call it that— but I enjoy it.  Sports mean so much to you Americans.  I wish I was American,"

"No, you don't,"

"Of course I do!  Do not question me, Laurens,"

"Alright, alright," Laurens put his hands up in defense, taking the paper bag from Lafayette and looking at a single lonely donut.  He could give it to Hamilton.  "Listen, I gotta get back soon.  Real busy,"

"With what?"

"Work shit.  Paperwork,"

"Oh," Lafayette's smile faltered.  "I see.  Alright, tell Hamilton I say hello,"

Laurens' face turned red.  "What?"

"I texted him earlier, he said he was there.  That is why I bought three donuts, idiot," Lafayette noticed the shocked expression of Laurens' face and paused.  "What is the matter?"

"Nothing,"

Lafayette smirked, leaning forward and putting an arm around Laurens as they sat on the park bench.  "Laurens, do not fret, I already know of your... what shall we call it?  Relationship?"

"It's not a relationship," Laurens pushed his arm away.  "Did he tell you that?"

"He told me you have sex,"

"Gross, why?"

"Gross?" Lafayette raised an eyebrow, "But you are the one who had sex!"

"Shh, lower your voice," Laurens commanded, glaring.  "Why would he tell you that?  And we're not in a relationship, we just screw around sometimes.  You better not've told anybody,"

"Relax, I have had sex with him as well,"

"Lafayette!"  Laurens practically shouted, moving further away.  "You have a wife!"

"I do not see the problem,"

"Oh, fuck off!  And don't have sex with him anymore,"

"It was once, we were drunk, relax,"  Lafayette argued casually.  "I barely remember it.  I am not even gay, as you said, I have a wife,"

Laurens glanced around.  "Just because you have a wife doesn't mean you're not gay.  I don't know, Laf, maybe you're bisexual or whatever.  Just, please, don't have sex with him anymore,"

"I am very straight. And why not?  Are you committed— monogamously?  And as I said before, it was once, and I have no desire to do so again,"

"Not like that.  I just don't want you to, it's weird," Laurens shivered.  "Good.  You better not.  He's under a dry spell, anyway,"

"A monogamous dry spell.  You made that bet so that he could not have sex with anybody else," Lafayette pointed out.

"He told you about that, too," Laurens whispered, overwhelmed as he leaned forward and put his head in his hands.  "Listen, Laf, I'm not dating him.  It was a stupid bet and he lost.  Nothing subliminal about it.  I gotta go now,"

"Goodbye," Lafayette chuckled.  "Have fun,"

Laurens flipped him off.  "Whatever,"


	5. Little Talks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t listen to a word that I say  
> ‘Cause screams all sound the same  
> Though the truth may vary, this  
> Ship will carry our bodies safe to shore,”
> 
> —Of Monsters and Men, “Little Talks”

Hamilton had just submitted his essay when the apartment door burst open, startling him. He looked up to see Laurens, in his gym shorts, running shoes, and sweatshirt, holding a small paper bag. He tossed it to him. "Here," Laurens sighed, closing the apartment door.

"What's this? Where'd you go?" Hamilton asked, opening it to see a vanilla glazed donut. 

"Jogging. Like, over an hour ago,"

"Right, right, I remember now,"

"—and along the way I ran into our good friend, the Marquis de la Lafayette. Remember him?" Laurens said, throwing off his shoes and sweatshirt. "He was bringing us donuts and I had a nice chat with him in the park. Apparently, he knows about our sex life,"

"Mmhm, an'?" Hamilton said, donut in his mouth as he logged out of the computer.

"And? That's all you have to say?" Laurens turned to him, crossing his arms. Hamilton looked up as he closed the laptop.

"What?" He set his donut down. "Is there something else...?"

"Why would you tell him?"

"Because he's our friend?"

"Alex," Laurens' look could freeze hell. He took a deep breath and sat down in the chair diagonal from Hamilton at the table. 

"I didn't tell anyone else, and Laf won't tell,"

"Mmhm. And another thing," Laurens began, then his phone rang. He took it out of his pocket and was about to ignore the call, but his eyes widened and he quickly answered. Hamilton looked on intently. "Hey, James,"

"Jack!"

"How are you?" Laurens began to smile, eyes glancing over Hamilton quickly before he put up a finger, got up, and stepped outside of the apartment. 

"Good, I'm good. How's the city?"

"Uh, it's fine. Are you alright?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I don't know, you just sound so formal," Laurens chuckled at his younger brother. He didn't want to hurt his feelings for calling him out on phoning out of the blue, but was curious. "Is everything alright at home? With Pa?"

"Yeah? It's fine. I just called because I wanted to tell you something!"

"What is it?"

"I got a pet!" He said excitedly. "His name is Rufus, and he's a bulldog. He always has like a scrunchy face and a short little tail,"

"Woah, Pa let you get a dog?" Laurens asked, genuinely surprised. His father never let him get a pet. Not technically, anyway. He had horses, which he loved to death, but his father treated it like a business transaction, almost. Like some sort of educational commitment, a more pristine equestrian thing. 

"Yeah! He's so funny like one of those meme dogs. Harry and Martha wanted a doge but—"

"A— What?"

"A doge! Y'know, that one on the Internet. The derpy lookin' one. I dunno, Jack, google it. Anyway, Mary and I wanted a French bulldog. But Pa got us a regular one instead,"

"English bulldog?"

"Yeah, that's it. I'll send you pictures, but I'm so happy! Pa said he'd get me one if I got good grades, which I always do anyways, but whatever. All of my other friends have dogs and all we have are stupid horses,"

"Hey, horses aren't stupid," Laurens defended, though his tone was light while talking to his brother. He always loved his horses. "Well, I'm glad, kid. You make any new friends?"

"Ew, Jack, that's such a fifth-grader question to ask. I'm a teenager now! ...But, yeah, I signed up for basketball back in October—"

"Yeah, I remember. You made the team, right?"

"No... not the school team. But I'm doing a company-sponsored thing so I can still play,"

"Shoot, I'm sorry, I remember now. I've just been super busy with work, I haven't been able to call or check in lately. How's Martha?" He changed the subject.

He heard James sigh a little. "She's good. And so is Harry and Mary. Hey, I just realized that their names rhyme! That's cool, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it is,"

"Shit, I'm sorry, I gotta go," James said. Laurens almost told him to watch his language but didn't. "Bye, Jack,"

"Yup, Bye. Love ya," Laurens barely got out before he heard the line click. He stayed outside the apartment a few more moments, taking a minute or two to check Facebook and like the recent photos of his siblings playing with their new dog, before turning to go back inside.  Hamilton was pouring another mug of coffee.  Laurens sighed and took it from him.  

"Hey!"  Hamilton protesting, leaning over to snatch it back but Laurens dumped it out in the sink.  "What your deal, John?!"

"It's after noon, no caffeine, idiot,"

"You're not my dad!"

"Then I shouldn't have to deal with you being awake at two AM," Laurens shot back, rinsing out the mug and setting it aside in the sink.  

"I am an adult, I'll be up at two AM if I want to," Hamilton crossed his arms. 

Laurens sighed.  "Then fucking act like one.  I'm always providing you with meals and a bed to sleep in and coffee and you use my WiFi regularly," he took a deep breath and backed up, leaning against the counter, "I shouldn't have to be your outlet for sex and domestic comforts!"

"Jesus, John, why are you getting so upset?!  I was going to drink coffee, I'm not your sugar baby!  What is wrong with you?!"  Hamilton shouted.  Laurens grit his teeth.

"And that's another thing!  You can go exploit our relationship to Lafayette without my knowledge but you can't be bothered to tell me that you slept with him?!"  

Hamilton's eyes widened and he immediately defended himself, "I-it was one time, and we were drunk, I barely remember it!  Laf is straight anyway, we were messing around and experimenting. Why do you even fucking care?  Do I need to list off every person I've slept with?  You're not my dad, remember?!"  Hamilton's nose twitched, "And you have no right to call me a moocher—"

"I never said—"

"—I know what you were insinuating!  I'm not stupid.  So, I hang out here a lot and I sometimes drink your coffee and use your WiFi.  What, am I loitering?  Call the cops on me, John, you already act like a xenophobic fuck who’s afraid of illegal immigrants. Call the cops on me. Or do you expect every other guy you fuck to treat it like a drive-thru?  Because I'm pretty fucking sure that the only ass I'm touching for two months is yours and the least you could do—"

"Oh my god, Alex," Laurens just rolled his eyes.  "You're incompetent, you know that?"

"Yes, name-calling, very mature, John,"

"I don't want to argue about this, this shit is stupid,"

"Apparently it's not," Hamilton huffed, uncrossing his arms and clenching his fists, "I mean, you brought it up, you have a problem with it.  I'll leave if you really don't want me around,"

"No," Laurens said, heaving a sigh.  He grabbed Hamilton's arm and forced the words out.  "Look, I'm just stressed.  I didn't mean to call you out and be a dick, I just... ugh," he looked away, unable to make eye contact as Hamilton's previously tense arm relaxed in his hand and contracted as he moved closer.  "I don't mind you over here,"

"If you get sick of me, just tell me to leave," Hamilton's tone was less tense, "people usually don't have a problem,"

"With what?"

"Telling me to leave,"

"Oh, Alex..." Laurens mumbled, feeling the tugging impulse to wrap his arms around Hamilton.  He resisted.  "I'm not sick of you.  I just said that shit because I was upset about other shit,"

"What're you upset about?"  Hamilton insisted, moving even closer to the point where their chests were brushing up against each other. 

"I don't know, just..." he sighed again as Hamilton's lips brushed over his.  "The fact that Lafayette knows stuff I don't bothers me,"

"Why?"  Hamilton moved his hand off of Laurens' shoulder, trailing it down his arm and taking his hand.  "You can tell me.  And I'll keep you more informed in my life, I just didn't think you were interested before,"

"We're friends, of course I care," he answered softly.  He could barely stand the torturous way Hamilton's hips barely touched his, the way his lips lingered just slightly out of reach from his own. 

"Okay," Hamilton murmured gently, planting a kiss on the underside of Laurens' jaw.  "Okay," he repeated, kissing a bit more.  "What do you want to know?"

"Uh—" Laurens stuttered a little, pulling Hamilton's face up so he could kiss him properly on the lips, "tell me about something later, I don't want to talk about your past lovers right now,"

Hamilton just chuckled a little into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Laurens' waist.


	6. Troubles With Monogamy

Hamilton laid awake in bed. He hadn't been able to sleep the past couple of weeks, finding himself sleeping with Laurens more and more often. He felt frustrated with himself for growing attached. He knew this would happen. He told himself not to get into a habit of having sex with Laurens after that first time and he failed. He couldn't even listen to himself. And now where was he? Unable to let go and not wanting to be with anybody else. ‘That's what happens when you sleep with your best friend,’ Hamilton thought, ‘and now my heart will be broken.’

He began to push himself out of Laurens' bed, suddenly being pulled back by Laurens' hands. Hamilton blinked, thinking Laurens was asleep. "Laurens?"

"Mm— don't leave," Laurens mumbled, half-asleep as he pulled Hamilton back towards him.

"John, go back to sleep," Hamilton said, writhing away and getting out of the bed. Groggily, Laurens sat up and rubbed his eyes.

"Where're y'goin'?" He mumbled. Hamilton sighed.

"I gotta go to class,"

"Alex, it's—" Laurens picked up his phone from the bedside table and focused his blurry vision on the numbers. "You don't have four AM classes,"

"You wouldn't know,"

"Your first class starts at ten, 'm not stupid," Laurens said. Hamilton pulled on his boxers and sweatpants and left the room anyway, leaving Laurens to groan and flop back down on the bed. He went to the bathroom and washed his face and brushed his teeth, looking up in the mirror and stare at the bags under his eyes. When he came back to the bedroom, Laurens was still lying there, pretty much asleep. Hamilton frowned to himself, pulling on his jeans, shirt, and sweatshirt, then his shoes and light jacket which were by the door, then proceeded to leave the apartment with his bag.

Hamilton walked down the street, which was still dark since the sun hadn't come up yet, and made his way to campus. He got back to his dorm and flinched when the door slammed by accident of his hand.  Regardless, he proceeded to take off his shoes, jacket, and bag, which he discarded to the corner of the room before pulling off his jeans and trudging to his bed. He glanced over at his dorm mate, who was face down and asleep, snoring unattractively. Hamilton grumbled to himself and pulled his hoodie up, eyes widened slightly when he realized whose sweatshirt he was wearing.

It smelled so delightfully of Laurens that Hamilton couldn't help himself. He pulled the drawstrings tight and snuggled into bed and inhaled a whiff of the blue fabric. He bit his lip and tried not to think about Laurens. 

Hours later, Hamilton awoke to typing on a laptop. He groggily looked up and pulled a stand of his hair from the corner of his lip. 

"Bobby?" He grumbled. "What're you doing up this early?"

"Don't call me 'Bobby'," Troup sighed and glanced up at the clock.  "Early?  Alex, it's like, almost ten,"

Hamilton took a moment to consider this and his eyes suddenly widened as he shot up in bed, frantically getting up.  Troup looked at him in confusion.

Hamilton grabbed a pair of his joggers from his dirty laundry basket, panicking.  

"...Alex?"

"It's 9:57!  I have class at ten!"  He anxiously said, grabbing Troup's disposable cup of McDonald's coffee and finishing it off.  Troup opened his mouth in protest but closed it again, watching Hamilton pull on his sneakers, grab his bag, and several papers from the desk.  He didn't bother saying goodbye before running down the halls, trying not to slam face-first into socializing students and whatnot.  

He undid his messy ponytail as he ran, combing his fingers through his dark hair and pulling it into a still somewhat messy ponytail as he made it to the building across campus where his class was.

When Hamilton arrived, several minutes late, quite a few people looked his way.  It wasn't like him to be late.  He breathed laboriously and flopped down into a seat near the back, several seats away from Burr.  Burr shot him a look and Hamilton hid his embarrassment.

As the professor began his lecture, Hamilton pulled his notes and pen out.  Along with the notebook and textbook flopped out his phone and he quickly grabbed it, watching it buzz a few times.  He glared at it frustratedly and looked at the notifications from Laurens.  

 

Alexander Hamilton>  dude stop texting me!!!

John Laurens>  sorry  
John Laurens>  why'd ya leave so early?

Alexander Hamilton>  I had class

John Laurens>  not at 4 AM???

Alexander Hamilton> look, why do you care? I'm trying to listen to a lecture, go enjoy your life as a privileged millennial  
Alexander Hamilton>  I didn't mean that  
Alexander Hamilton>  sorry

John Laurens>  ok  
John Laurens>  don't be salty

Alexander Hamilton> said the ocean to the lake

John Laurens> you're a salty lake then idfk

Alexander Hamilton>  I wish we were talking on the phone :(

John Laurens>  why?

Alexander Hamilton>  so you could've heard me sigh at that  
Alexander Hamilton> ...sigh

John Laurens>  funny  
John Laurens>  shouldn't you b listing to the lecture?  
John Laurens>  listening stupid fucking autocorrect 

Alexander Hamilton>  hey guess what

John Laurens>  go listen to your fucking class!

—Alexander Hamilton sent an image—

John Laurens>  ALEX WHAT THE FUCK

 

Hamilton smirked to himself and turned off his phone, glancing behind him at the girl who pretended not to see the naked photo he just sent.  He had never sent Laurens nudes before, but had one he had taken with the intention to send it but never did out of some sort of anxiety.  He could only imagine Laurens' face at the impulsive decision, and Hamilton bit his lip at the thought.  He tried to focus on the lecture.

• • •

"Alexander, I swear," Laurens breathed, knocking on the dormitory door.  He waited for a moment when a different man answered. Laurens felt, at first, some odd negative emotion that was indescribable, but it went away when Troup let him in and declared:

"You looking for my dorm mate? Alex is out,"

"Out, where?" John asked, shoving his hands into his pockets. Troup shrugged a bit and glanced at his watch.

"He should be getting back from class soon, it ended about five minutes ago. You the boyfriend?"

"The— What?" Laurens shook his head, quite genuinely confused. "No, no, Alex and I aren't— did he say— what?"

"Well he said he has a boyfriend," Troup shrugged, "but I've never met any boyfriend. 'Xept, y'know, he used to hang out with Aaron Burr a bit more, but other than that I don't think the guy has friends. I mean, he has me, and he talks about having friends outside of campus, but I'd honestly believe that he'd lie about something like that and actually just go to the library or something. Although you're here and I've never seen you on campus, so I naturally assumed you're his magnificent boyfriend he talks so much about,"

"...what?" Laurens was trying to process everything Troup had said. "Does Alex have, like, sexual partners on campus?"

"That was a weird-phrased question," Troup snorted. Laurens sighed and glanced around the room. He doubted that Hamilton's roommate would be able to catch whether or not he was having sex with other people, as their dorm was just a single room with two beds, a mini fridge, and a desk. Troup noticed Laurens' dazed staring and went on, "Not that I know of, no, he's always working. Y'know I'm kinda worried about him, sometimes he paces around campus mumbling to himself? Do you know anything about that?"

"Oh my God, do you talk more than him?" Laurens muttered under his breath as Troup just continued talking:

"Who are you, anyway? You sound like you fit the description of his boyfriend perfectly,"

"What— What does he describe me as?" Laurens found himself asking in spite of himself.

"He said his boyfriend was tall and handsome but those are sort of vague characteristics. But I definitely know because you aren't denying it and you just said, 'what does he describe me as?'" Troup laughed a little.

"That was an automated response, you flipped my words,"

"You came here to find him and since he's gone, you're taking the time to interrogate his roommate and ask if he has sex with anyone else. Your red cheeks and disheveled, yet mildly interested, appearance clearly indicate that you're his significant other,"

Laurens blinked. "Are you a law student?"

"Yes, why?"

"Stop. Stop it right now. Stop every class you're doing and go join the FBI or something," he dead-panned. Troup laughed.

"So I'm correct?"

"No, I never said that,"

"But you insinuated it,"

"No, Alex and I aren't dating, we're—"

A new voice suddenly appeared as the dorm door was pushed open, revealing Hamilton, whose cheeks, nose, and ears were all pink from the lack of proper gear for the cold of campus. His fingertips were raw and red as he pulled his hood down, blinking at Laurens. He said: "John, what're you doing here?"

Laurens sighed at Troup's curious smile and turned to Hamilton. "We need to talk,"

"I—" he looked at Troup, "Wait, how long were you waiting for me?"

"Not long, I was just talking to your dorm mate— what's your name again?"

"Robert Troup," Troup said.

"Bobby," Hamilton interrupted.

"Shut the hell up, I don't call you anything stupid," Troup said to him.

Hamilton retaliated, "Well, my name doesn't prompt a stupid nickname, does it?"

"Stop fighting, Alex," Laurens interrupted quickly. "Robert, could you please step into the hallway?"

Troup's eyes widened at his name— Robert— being said aloud in full. "You can call me Troup,"

"For fuck's sake, go,"

"Okay, don't get your little domestic violence out of hand,"

"We're not—" Laurens protestes but Hamilton put his hand out onto his arm. Laurens closed his mouth, watching as Troup left the dorm room and closed the door. Laurens turned to Hamilton and began in a hushed voice, "What the hell was that picture earlier?"

"What, you not like it?" Hamilton teased, hoping deep inside that Laurens wasn't actually angry about that. It took courage to send nude photos, even to a person who has seen his naked body dozens of times.

"That's not it, it was just an asshole thing to do. What if I was in public? I don't need a bunch of people looking over my shoulder and seeing you sprawled out with your cock in your hand like a damn porn star," Laurens stopped, backtracking on the harsh wording, "you know what I mean. Not that it wasn't hot as fuck,"

"Glad you liked it," Hamilton replied noncommittally. 

Laurens sighed. "Just warn me next time,"

"There'll be a next time?"

"I don't— I mean you can, I assumed you would," he shrugged and looked away. Hamilton bit his lip to stop a smile when the smile suddenly left his lips without preamble. He looked down at his feet, awaiting another complaint from Laurens in silence. When there came none, he began to think about how he abruptly left this morning and how Laurens had asked him to stay. And how he didn't stay. How he left regardless, not even leaving a note or a text for Laurens when he was fully awake. 

He began to defend himself in his mind, thinking of a million reasons why he wasn't in the wrong. How it was none of Laurens' concern whether or not he left, how he at least told Laurens he was leaving when he awoke, how he genuinely just needed to sleep in without a heavy arm sprawled on his chest, how he woke up late and how lucky he was to have made it to class only a few minutes late.

"Your dorm mate said that you told him you had a boyfriend," Laurens said. Hamilton snapped up at attention, startled by the fact that Laurens wasn't complaining about how Hamilton left, oh no, he was complaining about a reference to a possibly monogamous relationship. Hamilton turned blue, but his face turned red.

"It was just so I didn't have to explain how we're just best friends with benefits," Hamilton said, suddenly realizing how simple it sounded out loud. He took a breath, "he already thinks I lead a pitiful little life alone that revolves around school, so saying 'friends with benefits' kind of makes me sound like some loser who can't even get a solid relationship on my hands. And I mean, Catherine Livingston rejected me, and Troup knows that, and I don't want to sound like a whore who screws his other friends outside of school. Fuck, he probably thinks the whole 'boyfriend' thing is made up, I don't fucking know,"

"So you told him I was your boyfriend because you didn't want to sound like a loser? What, is this high school?"

"What? John, what the hell? No, I just, I don't—" he swallowed and looked away. 

"Tell him whatever you need to in order to feel better,"

"All men love egotism, Dear Laurens," Hamilton rolled his eyes sarcastically. He noticed the sour look on Laurens' face. "What, you pissed at me or something?"

"It pisses me off that you leave at four in the morning—"

"I don't live with you, I can leave whenever I want,"

"—without explaining at all, and then you—"

Hamilton cut him off again, "I just needed a few extra hours of sleep without dead weight on top of me, Jesus Christ!"

"So this is about your problem with me, now?" Laurens crossed his arms, "Because it's all my fault, right? It's always my fucking fault,"

"I never said that!" Hamilton exaggerated movements with his arms, dropping his bag off of his shoulder and going to pace the room as he argued, "I just wanted sleep! Is it a crime to want sleep now, too?"

"What do you mean, 'too'?"

"You're always complaining about whatever I'm not doing right, how I drink too much coffee or I work to hard, how inconsiderate of your feelings I am when you never stop for a second to think about my feelings! Maybe I'm sick and tired of sucking your cock and then being nit-picked constantly! You complain, complain, complain! All I ever try to do is make you happy, John! I try not to fuck up and say something wrong, or break that stupid two-month her and fuck somebody who actually cares about me!"

Laurens grit his teeth. "How the fuck do I not care about you?! I offer you a place to crash when you can't deal with college, when we fuck I ask you what you like and if I'm doing something wrong because I want to make you feel good! Like a fucking God! After we have sex I kiss you and tell you how amazing you are and how lucky I am, how lucky I am, to have a friend like you! I have literal blood on my hands because I protect your ass because I care about that hot ass of yours, and your ass has a fucking human attached to it with a stupidly smart brain! Alex, I try to actually stay alive on these stupid missions because you told me to! And I don't want to hurt you!"

Hamilton's throat tightened. He knew he was too old to cry over some silly argument with his friend— lover?— but he couldn't really help it. He immediately wiped a tear that fell and bit his lip.

"I just want you to fucking live," Hamilton grumbled.

"Is this what this is about? Are you being a dick because you're worried I'm going to die? I'm not going to jump off a fucking building, Alex,"

"Fuck you, I— that's not what I mean. You get fucking shot and stabbed and you pretend it's fine and I can't stand it because one day that bullet or knife is not going to be in the shoulder or the leg, it's going to kill you, and you're my best friend. I can't fucking lose you and God, it's selfish of me, but so what?! Maybe I'm not perfect, maybe I'm selfish for wanting you alive for selfish reasons since I'm a lonely fuck without anybody else to talk to who actually puts up with my bullshit, but so what?! Why is it so difficult to just be careful?!"

Laurens swallowed. "Fine. You want me to stop going on missions?"

"No, I never said that. Stop twisting my words,"

"I should go," Laurens just said, "and if you're so fucking lonely, go find somebody else to fuck. That two-month bet was stupid anyway,"

Hamilton opened his mouth in protest as Laurens left the room, slamming the door behind him. Troup came down the hall from where he stood talking to a girl, and went in to check on Hamilton, who sat on his knees on the floor as he searched through the clutter in his bag.

"Alex, what's up? You're boyfriend storm off?" Troup asked genuinely, kneeling down to the floor with him. Hamilton shrugged his shoulder away roughly, scooping up the papers frantically.

"He's not my fucking boyfriend. He's my friend and we've been fucking but I'm too pathetic to ever have an actual relationship. Go ahead, laugh," Hamilton muttered angrily, waiting for a response. He filled the silent void with, "I know you want to. I know I suck, I'm a loser, I can't even have a best friend without fucking it up, I'm man-whore and I can't keep my hands to myself, go on! Just fucking say it! I can't keep friends because I'm a lonely, pathetic, sad, prideful idiot! I care more about my studies than friends!"

Troup just froze, not replying. Hamilton sucked in a painful breath, his whole body trembling as he tried not to break down. 

"Shit, are you crying?" Troup asked, concerned. He didn't ever believe that his dorm mate had feelings other than frustration and existentialism.

"No," Hamilton answered but even such a short, simple word wavered off his tongue.

Troup wrapped his arms around Hamilton, hugging him tightly. "You're not pathetic," he whispered, suddenly feeling guilty about the shit-talk he raved about to Laurens earlier, "and I'm your friend, you haven't fucked that up, right? Hey, go ahead, man, cry. I won't judge you,"

"I won't cry," Hamilton whispered mostly to himself, sucking another breath in and closing his eyes. He slowly let out a pained sigh, trying to get rid of the sobs in his throat that threatened to escape. He eventually began to breath a bit more normally, pulling away from Troup with nothing more than a tear or two that he had already wiped away discreetly. Troup looked at him sadly, knowing that Hamilton had kept his emotions stifled for so long only to hide them again, not allowing any crying.

"Hey, y'know, if that guy can't see how hard you're trying and how much you care, he's not worth it," Troup reassured, unsure how to go about advice. "Or, you can hold his sweatshirt hostage until he caves,"

"How did you know this was his sweatshirt?" Hamilton mumbled, coughing a small laughed and wishing his face wasn't so red right now.

"It's a little big on you, I've never seen it before, and it says 'Middlesex University, London' on the back, and I know you've never attended Middlesex,"

Hamilton laughed bitterly and nodded, arms stilled filed over his chest as he shivered a little. "John went to Middlesex. And some weird 'Middle Temple' place with weird religious shit, I don't know, his dad's weird..."

"Expensive," Troup agreed, trying to veer the subject as that was what he did best, "his dad is some political dude, right? The name 'Laurens' is familiar,"

"Congressman, delegate dude from South Carolina. Henry Laurens," Hamilton cleared his throat, suddenly feeling very weird about talking about Laurens' father, "that's why they travel a lot, I guess, John went to college in Switzerland for a while and then England. I don't actually know if I should be talking about this, John doesn't really like talking about his life,"

Troup nodded, understanding. "Hey, I was gonna go grab a drink with Nick later— y'know, the one in his second year— do you wanna join?"

Hamilton opened his mouth to respond when a message came into his phone. He paused, looked at it, and frowned. Troup noticed this and so Hamilton quickly played it off.

"I can't," Hamilton said, "trust me, I'd love to, but I can't. I have work,"

"Right, right. It's fine. Next time?"

"Yeah, next time,"


	7. More Fighting

Hamilton arrived at the agency, now wearing nice jeans and a jacket rather than Laurens' sweatshirt and  his joggers like earlier that morning, and sighed.  He adjusted his backpack and marched his ass to Washington's office, Laurens behind him with his own duffel bag. 

They listened carefully as Washington explained their overnight mission.  Just the two of them.

"I don't really want to be here right now, Washington," Hamilton crossed his arms, glancing over at Laurens. Laurens huffed and rolled his eyes. "I have a lot of work to do,"

"Alex," Washington leaned forward a bit, sighing, "you know what this job entailed when you signed up. I cannot excuse you from a mission and, believe me, as much as I wish you safety in the comfort of your dorm, pursuing education, you can't go back on your signature. I'm sorry,"

"No, it's fine, just... I think I'm coming down with something," Hamilton lied. He saw the unamused and skeptical look on his boss' face and quickly cleared his throat, "but I should be fine today, I don't have class until another, ah, two days...?"

"Three. Monday," Laurens mumbled. Hamilton nodded.

"Monday. Right, thanks," he sighed and straightened himself out, trying not to appear self-conscious. "I'll be fine, sir, never— never mind. It's fine,"

Hamilton turned on his heel, shoulder brushing against Laurens' as he left the office.  Washington gave Laurens a questioning look and he just rolled his eyes, following Hamilton out.  He kept his mouth screwed shut, looking down angrily at the floor. He was always fucking things up, yelling instead of crying, clenching his fists until his nails drew blood instead of trying to talk things out. He pitied himself for this reason, knowing as he trailed behind Hamilton that he was unable to just man up and start conversation.

They were silent as they grabbed their bags, silent as they got in the car, and silent as they began to drive with Laurens at the wheel and Hamilton putting his feet up on the dash.

And they were silent as they approached the hotel, where they would have to be spending the night before making their way to the next state over.  Laurens received the room key (for the room Washington had checked out for them) and brought his duffel bag upstairs.  They left their weapons hidden under the trunk of their car.  Hamilton trailed behind Laurens, dragging his backpack tiredly.

"Oh, fuck me," Hamilton muttered at the site of the one queen-sized bed in the ridiculously small hotel room.  "Can we call to get a cot up here or something?"

Laurens sighed, dropping his bag.  "It's too late at night,"

"Right," he mumbled, kneeling down to grab a shirt out of his bag.  He took off his own shirt and pants, standing only in his boxers for a moment as he pulled on a red tee shirt.  He pretended not to notice the way Laurens was pretending not to look at him.  Laurens went into the small bathroom to change, leaving Hamilton to the main room himself.  He put his other clothes away and sat on the end of the bed. 

Hamilton laid down after he plugged in his phone, staring up at the ceiling in the dark. He watched the flash of light as Laurens opened the bathroom door, shut off the light, and slowly walked to the bed in his tank and sweatpants. Hamilton sat up and grabbed his smaller bag which was inside his backpack and brushed his teeth in the bathroom. Laurens rolled onto his side, hand on the sliver of mattress beside him. He gripped onto the taupe comforter and buried his face in his pillow, feeling his breath hitch undesirably. He stifled it quickly and breathed normally again. 

When Hamilton came out of the bathroom, he turned off the light again, and laid next to Laurens.

He wanted to reconnect desperately, hating the fact that Laurens was right there, just a couple feet away, and he couldn't just reach over and hug him. Or even talk to him, for that matter. 

So, he used the one way he knew how to connect with Laurens.

"Hotel sex sounds fun," Hamilton mumbled half-heartedly.

Laurens was caught off-guard at first. "Then go find somebody to fuck in the hotel. We're here all weekend on this dumbass mission,"

Hamilton sighed, getting under the comforter like Laurens was already. He rolled over to face him, but Laurens was facing the other direction, so he just turned back over. 

"Whatever. We suck," Hamilton muttered spitefully, "we can't talk, we can't fuck, we can't kiss, we can't do anything. Because of some dumbass fight. Whatever. What-fucking-ever. I don't even fucking care anymore,"

Laurens stayed silent. Eventually, he fell asleep. Hamilton could barely do the same.

The next morning, they left their stuff in the hotel room and drove out more towards the rural areas, eventually finding a long, winding road to a farm.  Hamilton looked over the file once more— there was only one person to arrest, and it was vital they be alive— before tossing it back.  They parked near the house. 

They went in, arrested the guy as normal, waited for the Thanatos, and then they fled. They went back to the hotel— they were supposed to spend the night there again, to avoid suspicion and appear just as tourists.

"Y'know we have to stay there tonight, too," Laurens mumbled.

Hamilton looked up from the passenger seat of the car cynically, rolling his eyes.  "So he speaks,"

Laurens went on, "Washington booked two nights to avoid any sort of suspicion— y'know, if we were only here in Jersey for one night before going back to New York, it would look suspicious,"

"Fucking naïve moron," Hamilton muttered under his breath.  He spoke up, "Washington sent us on this fucking trip on purpose,"

"What do you mean?"  Laurens' grip on the wheel trend his knuckles white as he tried to focus on the road.

"I don't fucking know, but isn't it clear?  He sends the two of us, alone, off to New Jersey and he booked us a hotel room with only one bed and everything.  He did it on purpose,"

"Bullshit,"

"I'm telling you, it's true!  He's a romantic sap!"

"Right.  So our boss thinks we're together, anyone else you told?"

Hamilton's eyes thinned as he took his feet off of the dash, sitting up, "The hell does that mean?"

"Lafayette.  Robert Troup.  Washington.  You fucking blab your mouth to everyone without even asking me, and the worst part is that I didn't even find it out from you!  I only know that these people know because they slipped up!"  Laurens complained.

"What is your problem?!  I didn't tell Washington shit!  I only told Troup because I needed an excuse for being out at all hours of the night killing people, and I told Lafayette because he's our best friend!  He doesn't give a shit, he's fucking French for God's sake!"

"What the fuck does that mean?!"

"I don't know!  But what the hell  are you trying to say?  What, are you embarrassed that I've been sucking your cock?"  Hamilton asked venomously. 

"Yes!"

"Why is it any different than if I was a chick, huh?  We're friends with benefits, John, walk out any time you please, be my fucking guest.  But I don't understand your internalized homophobia when your family already knows you're fucking other dudes and— hey, guess what?!— They're not gonna do shit about it because you're a grown-ass man!  What are you, twenty-three?  If your dad could control you, don't you fucking think he would have shipped your ass back to London to finish college already?!  'Cause newsflash, he hasn't, and no matter how Goddamn homophobic he is, that asshole won't do shit!"

"Hey, fuck you, Alex!  You don't fucking know my Pa!  And for you to say stupid shit about me being homophobic—"

"I never said—"

"—Is stupid and hurtful!"

Hamilton growled, "Then what the fuck is your problem?!"

"This!"  Laurens yelled, "This is my goddamn problem!  I fucking told you, Alex, that this shit would ruin our friendship and— oh, look!— it is!  I fucking hate myself because I look at you and think, goddamn, I'm never going to be able to look at you the same again!"

"And that means what, John?"

"I— I don't fucking know.  Just drop it, okay?"

Hamilton's eyebrows drew together as he put a hand on Laurens' shoulder.  He ripped his shoulder away and glared at the road, so Hamilton groaned, "You can't fucking ignore me then pretend like you're being the bigger person,"

There was silence for a moment so he crossed his arms and turned away.

"Fine.  Whatever,"


	8. Makeup Sex?

By the time they had gotten back to the hotel, both somewhat stewing in their anger although deep inside missing one another, both Hamilton and Laurens were up for something— anything— to fix what had been torn by endless bickering.

Though, they didn't say it out loud.  It was like a mutual agreement although neither had considered and/or thought this fully through, they had it on the backs of their minds.

Once in their room, still mid day, Hamilton drew closet to Laurens as if on instinct.  Laurens, slightly started although this wasn't unexpected, reacted with anger and grabbed Hamilton by the collar, pushing him down onto the bed.  There was an angry moment between them in which they didn't kiss, didn't move at all for that matter, it was just the two of them, Laurens on top of Hamilton and Hamilton's breathing becoming more shallow.  

He reached forward to kiss Laurens, but Laurens moved his face away and kissed his jaw, biting gently on his ear lobe.  Hamilton, while it may have been slightly suppressed, let out a soft moan.  It was relieving knowing that he was doing this with Laurens now, even if deep down he knew that he would regret it later.  He dragged his hands down Laurens' back and latched onto him somewhat messily.

Laurens passed submission when he allowed Hamilton to flip him over and work off his pants.  He immediately put his mouth over Laurens' member, too rushed right now to both taking it slow or teasing.  At this, Laurens strangled a moan, covering his mouth quickly and holding himself back from just grabbing Hamilton by the hair and pushing him down further.  Instead, he held onto the bedsheets, eventually feeling his legs jerk.  He quickly flipped to his side, grabbing the messy comforter, and released there so there wouldn't be a mess.  Hamilton, thinking they were done, collapsed next to him.

But Laurens sat back up and pried Hamilton's legs apart, pulling his pants off, and putting his hands on Hamilton's member to return the favor.  While he gave the hand job, he began to hungrily kiss over his collar bone and neck.  He released one hand to be able to pull off his shirt— Hamilton caught wind of this and began helping until they both were shirtless.  Hamilton savored this delicious moment to feel Laurens' naked body.  It was a body he wished he could never, ever forget.  If he could put it down into words and keep a poem of just how handsome (essentially perfect in every vigorous curve of the muscle, every tense and strong movement) Laurens was, then he would never grow tired of reading the poem over and over.  

Just the combination of Laurens' hands on his body, on his member, and his own hands exploring and embracing and savoring Laurens, made him collapse.  He released, trying to turn to veer it away from Laurens, and buried his face in the pillow.  Laurens collapsed next to him, drawing his lingering arm back towards his own body rather than leaving it on Hamilton's.

Moments later, after their breathing calmed, Hamilton hugged the pillow and glanced up at the sun that still shone steadily through the curtains.  "Fuck," he swore.

"What?"  Laurens rolled onto his side to face him.  He looked away and mumbled:

"I knew I would fucking hate myself.  I fucking knew it,"

"Alex, what—"

"How stupid are you?"  He sat up, instinctively grabbing the pillow and holding it over his body, "this.  This whole goddamn— ugh.  Goddammit.  I just... I hate this.  I fucking hate this.  I fucking hate makeup sex, I hate it so much.  And I hate myself because I knew it would happen and I didn't do shit.  I just let it happen and I— I shouldn't have.  I hate fighting but I hate this more.  It's not fair.  It's not healthy,"

"I'm sorry,"

"No, it's my fault.  I shouldn't have— ugh," he rubbed his eyes and sighed, "Why the fuck are we even mad at each other?"

"I don't know.  I just hate it when you leave and have stupid-ass excuses. Like, if you wanna leave, I don't give two fucks! Just don't walk out at four AM making me wonder if I did something to upset you or not. Jut say you couldn't sleep or that you needed solitude— I don't care! I'll let you sleep on the couch— or I could sleep on the couch— I don't know. Just don't put me in that weird place. And then send me nudes like it's normal or tell your dorm mate that I'm your boyfriend without even telling me. I'm sick of being in the dark, Alex, it sucks,"

"I'm sorry," he mumbled.  "I don't know.  There's something wrong with me, I'm sorry,"

"Don't be like that.  I'm not blaming you, it's my fault,"

"John,"

"Alex,"

"John, please—"  Hamilton took a deep breath and paused.  "I don't know.  I don't know anymore.  Please, let's stop fighting, okay?  We have time, let's go get some food or see a statue.  There's an aquarium in Jersey, isn't there?  I don't know,"

They sat in silence for a while.  Laurens pulled the sheet up over his lower half and leaned forward, kissing Hamilton.  He gasped softly into the kiss but quickly kissed back, taking it as some sort of closure or apology. He locked his lips around Laurens' bottom lip, leaning forward and holding the back of his neck to keep him in place.  

"Hey... let's go to that aquarium," Laurens hummed, getting up and going to get dressed.  Hamilton sat on the bed for several moments, a sudden nauseous feeling washing over him and he didn't know why.  He pushed it back, slowly ascending.

• • •

"Fish," Laurens mumbled, "and more fish,"

"But the turtles were cool," Hamilton suggested, leaning back in his chair.  After the aquarium the two decided to get lunch.

"Sure,"

"You drew turtles once, right?  Like, for a newspaper or whatever?"

"Not exactly.  And we saw sea turtles.  I drew a soft shelled turtle," he said.  "Not the same thing,"

"Don't you like turtles in general?"

"I mean," Laurens paused, leaning forward over his bowl of salad, "I don't hate them, they're cool— Who doesn't like turtles?— But I don't really have a favorite animal.  I like birds, though,"

"Then why're you eating chicken?"

"Don't question me.  You don't see me eating birds of paradise, do you?"  

Hamilton laughed.  "Yeah, makes sense.  Hey, could you draw me sometime?"

"What?  Why?"  Laurens asked, caught off-guard.

"Why not?"

"I'm not good at faces or hands," he muttered.

Hamilton's eyes widened, "Bullshit!  You totally can, I've seen it!  I suck at faces.  I'm not an artist like you.  But John, you're really amazing at hands and faces!"

"Lies,"

"No, no, you're the liar.  I've seen the shit you've drawn,"

"Well," Laurens said defensively, "I don't take requests,"

Hamilton pouted his lip.  "...Please?"

Laurens shrugged and looked away, sighing.  He already knew he would give in to Hamilton.  He had set himself up for failure.

After their late lunch, it was beginning to get dark as they walked back to the hotel.  Hamilton had— while Laurens was focused on something or another at the Chipotle in the mall they went to— snuck off to "go to the bathroom" when in actuality, he was buying lube and condoms.  He knew for a fact that neither he nor Laurens brought any along, as nether of them planned on having sex on this "business trip."

It was a poor excuse to buy the fancy kind of lube that costs too much, but he did it anyway.  He put the small pack of condoms and the new bottle of lube in his jacket pocket, safely hidden from Laurens.

So, when they got back, and Hamilton began kissing Laurens with clear ulterior motives, he made sure to reassure his partner by taking the items out of his pocket.

"What the fuck, Alex?"  Laurens panted lightly, backing up onto the bed.  "When'd you get that?"

"Mall.  And oh, my God, there were so many sex toys at the store I bought it from!"  Hamilton paused and put a dramatic hand to his forehead.  He sighed and let his hands fall, "Right, anyway, this shit was expensive as fuck, so this better be some goddamn good hotel sex,"

Laurens laughed in response, beginning to take off of his shirt.  Hamilton grabbed the "Do Not Disturb" sign and hung it on the exterior of the room's door.  He turned back to Laurens, stripping, and crawling over him.

"You hear what I said?"  Hamilton smirked, unbuckling Laurens' belt.  

"Hear what?"

Hamilton didn't answer.  He kissed all up his neck, sucking just a bit— though not enough to leave a mark— and pried off Laurens' pants.

"Alex," he panted.

"What I said about the expensive lube,"

"Oh," he paused, pushing Hamilton down and pulling off his pants.  Hamilton made sure to arch his back to assist Laurens, who then leaned close and bit his ear lobe.  "This is gonna be the best hotel sex you've ever had, I swear to fucking God,"

"John," Hamilton whined, pleased with that statement, and took the time to feel every last inch of Laurens' toned body.  His hard muscles, strong from the time he put into his work as an agent and the amount of physical exertion he clearly displayed.  His stubbly chin, his freckles, his dark lashes and intoxicating lips.  Suddenly, Hamilton was all but grounded in reality.  He lost touch of himself yet again as an anxious feeling pressed down on his shoulders.  A realization creeping in that he didn't want to be true.  He kept it far in the depths of his subconscious, refusing to acknowledge it.

"Alex, you okay?"  Laurens whispered, his hands around Hamilton's member.  Hamilton quickly nodded, thrusting himself back into the moment by continuing to brace Laurens' strong arms.  He admired his naked body like a painting in a French art museum.  So perfect, just because he knew the face that the handsome body was attached to.

"John— ah, just like that," he mumbled softly in encouragement, suddenly disheartened at Laurens' hand moving away.  He felt the strong hands flip him over as he was on his stomach, face helplessly buried in a pillow. He quickly pushed himself up so he was positioned face-down and on his knees. Laurens grabbed the bottle of lube, tangled in the bedsheets already, and popped open the cap. He put some on his fingers and acknowledged immediately that it was thick, and that the consistency was definitely nicer than what they usually used.

"Damn, you weren't kidding," he mumbled, slowly pushing a finger into Hamilton's hole. 

Hamilton yelped, too engulfed to even acknowledge what Laurens was saying. He felt a second finger as Laurens whispered dirty words. Again, he could care less about what was being said. He was too wrapped up in the feeling— and the attempts at clearing his mind— to think about the words uttered by his partner as the fingers were taken out, and a condom was unwrapped.

"John, please," Hamilton quietly begged without his own lips' consent. As soon as it came out he regretted it, although not for long as he felt Laurens' lubed member prod at his entrance. He let another soft plead escape. That was all Laurens needed— he slowly pushed himself in. "John— mm! God,"

"You like that?" Laurens whispered, awaiting a reply, but all he got was one moan followed by another and another. It was suppressed, as Hamilton buried his face in the pillow in an attempt to not make noise that would disrupt the other guests in the hotel. "C'mon, Alex, tell me if y-you like it," Laurens stammered slightly, pushing deeper and moving one of his hands from Hamilton's hips to his member. 

Hamilton still didn't respond. He was so focused on dissociation. Laurens just sighed, forcing himself to get off on Hamilton's moans— although he'd much rather listen to his voice telling him how much he liked it; how much he was enjoying himself; how he liked it, if Laurens was doing a good enough job. Laurens was often anxious he wasn't.

"A-Alex, you 'aight?" He struggled to get out, moving his hand a bit slower.

"Don't— stop—" he panted, voice muffled from the pillow. "More..."

Laurens nodded, though he knew the man beneath him wouldn't see, and continued his pounding at a brutal pace. It satisfied him, knowing he wouldn't have to pull out and reapply the lubricant, although he was still put off by Hamilton's refusal to speak. He might've just stopped entirely and demanded an explanation if this wasn't a usual occurrence. Just so long as Hamilton was enjoying himself, Laurens could get over it.

"John— I'm g-gonna cum," Hamilton whispered through moans softly. He released several seconds later. Laurens felt the way his hot seed dripped over his fingers— he pulled his hand away, bracing it on the bedsheets. Hamilton held on as his legs trembled, Laurens still ravaging him. "Oh— John, mm..."

"I'm close," Laurens panted lightly, one hand on Hamilton's left hip and the other groping the sheets to his right. He was towered over him, only focused on thrusting. It continued once, twice, then a third time, all the while Hamilton was whimpering form overstimulation. Laurens admired the way the other man slightly convulsed, shaking, and felt himself release just as he pulled out. He took off the condom and knotted it up, tossing it aside to a trashcan in the corner. He mumbled something about "nothing but net" as it made it in.

Hamilton rolled onto his back. Laurens collapses by him, breathing laboriously and shifting to wrap his arms around Hamilton. He flinched at first but allowed it for just a moment before sitting up.

"Where'd you p-put the condoms?" Hamilton breathed, getting on his knees. 

"Wha—? Alex, I haven't gotten it back up yet," he complained.

"Then I'll get you hard," Hamilton smirked casually and leaned forward. He towered over Laurens and kissed his neck. "No worries.  And for me... God, just the sight of you..."

"I— Fine," he obliged, not knowing what Hamilton had in store.  

Hamilton grabbed the lube, which had been tossed aside lazily, and then a condom.  He set them nearby but not before putting a bit of lube on his fingers to tease up and down Laurens' member.  He stroked and mumbled dirty compliments, watching in bliss as Laurens got it up again a bit too quickly.  He glanced down and saw himself already hard— he hadn't been lying earlier when he said the sight of Laurens could make him erect.

Hamilton, not needing to reapply the lube, pulled on a condom.  Laurens' eyes widened as he began to sit up.

"Alex—"

"Calm down, John," Hamilton whispered gently, "it's been forever since you've let me top.  My ass is getting sore by now, just let me..." he paused and stifled a snarky grin, as his voice became dangerously low, "..:give you this pleasure, alright?  Let me show you how great it feels to just be so, so full that you're dripping... begging... so beautifully," he paused again as he watched the desire heat in Laurens' eyes, "Alright?"

"Alright," he answered immediately, feeling helpless at the fact that he knew that there was no way to turn down an offer like that.  

"Then go on, Johnny, get on your knees and elbows, will ya?"

Laurens obliged, turning over and following suit.  He braved himself as Hamilton inserted two fingers at once slowly.  It caused a bit of discomfort, but he could get over it as his knees trembled in anticipation.  Hamilton had never been the master of bedroom talk— that title had proven time after time to belong to Laurens— but he definitely was far better than simply "mediocre" or anything less.  So Laurens waited, the libido ravaging him as Hamilton took away his fingers and put lube over his own member.

"Are you ready?"  Hamilton whispered.  Laurens let out a short answer that resembled "Yes," and so Hamilton prodded his erect member at his entrance.  Then, slowly, he pushed in.  He quickly picked up the pace, leaning forward a little so he could have a better angle. He wanted to jump right into thrusting hard, refusing to take it slow. He hated slow. He wanted it over with, no matter how much he loved it. No matter how much he loved Laurens' moans. It wasn't often that he topped, as Laurens seemed to always beat him to it, so even if he loved to savor it, he wanted it fast and erratic.

"Alex," Laurens moaned softly, biting his lip so hard that he was sure it would bleed. "Ah— fuck, oh, my God, Alex,"

Hamilton kept his words at a minimum as he absolutely ravaged Laurens.  Laurens was never usually this into the submission— but Hamilton knew the rough nature got him right where he wanted him, like putty under his touch.  He teased his hands up and down Laurens' sides, keeping an inconsistent pace to drive him crazy.  It wasn't too much longer before he was pushed on edge.

"Alex," he whined, "Alex, oh God, Alexander,"

The words pushed Hamilton over.  He thrust and felt himself release inside of him, inside of the condom, and kept going so Laurens could release as well.  

"Fuck!  Alexander," he panted, his hot seed shooting all over the sheets.  Hamilton pulled out and laid beside him, watching as Laurens' body could take the position no more as he collapsed and whined into the pillow.

"I don't wanna shower," Hamilton panted, taking off the condom.  He knotted it and tossed it aside (though he definitely missed the trashcan) and curled up by Laurens.

"Same," he mumbled, hugging Hamilton's naked body.  

"I dunno, maybe I'll get it up again later, but Imma sleep for now,"

"Same," he repeated.  He paused, "Hey,"

"Hm?"

"Hotel sex is the best way to make up after fighting,"

"'Tis indeed, my dear Laurens,"

"Alex?"

"Yeah?"

"Never mind," he said immediately, "I forgot what I was gonna say,"

"Oh... okay,"


	9. I Won’t Say I’m In Love

Hamilton exhaled a deep breath that had been held in for a while and rolled over, still feeling Laurens' arm on his back. Warm thoughts of last night flooded his mind just as the sunlight flooded through the curtains, causing him to feel both out of place and at home. He and Laurens went for another round or two as the night went on, although even the excitement of hotel sex wasn't as appealing as actually getting some sleep. 

Something was comforting him yet simultaneously it disturbed him. The way Laurens' arm felt against his nude body under the sheets; the way the sunrise was warm on his skin; and especially the way the freckled man's hot breath was against his back. Laurens was adorable while sleeping, almost child-like and innocent. Quiet. There was something appealing about how relaxed his muscles were.

Although Hamilton had to admit, there was something much more appealing about bantering with his partner and especially watching Laurens erupt into a fury with passion. It was just like him— hot-headed and fiery. 

So, he "accidentally" woke him up. When he felt Laurens stir at the attack of his elbow— once again, "accidentally"— in his spleen, he pretended to be asleep. He stayed still as Laurens groaned and pushed his arm away, shifting a bit. Then he, himself, pretended to wake up.

Laurens noticed his wake and mumbled with a grain of salt, "your pointy-ass elbow was stabbing me,"

'Ah, yes,' Hamilton thought to himself, 'the John we all know and love.'

"Sorry," Hamilton murmured in response, turning on his side so he was curled up facing Laurens' body. Laurens kept an arm around him, holding him close— the gesture was somewhat protective, though he wouldn't admit that to his conscious mind.

"Like hell you are. Punk,"

Hamilton smiled to himself, "This is nice,"

"What is?"

"I don't know. Relaxing. Apparently I don't do that enough,"

Laurens laughed a little, all the bitterness fading quite quickly, "No, you don't. You should, though,"

"Give me three good reasons," he yawned.

"Number one, it's bad for your health to be so high-strung all the time. Number two, nobody likes a little ball of anger and life is too short to be hated by everyone. Number three—" he paused, shifting so he was on his side and at eye-level with Hamilton, "—you won't get laid if you can't live spontaneously,"

"Alright, Harry Bright," he murmured, trying hard not to let this eye contact become awkward.

"What?"

"Y'know, Mamma Mia?"

Laurens chuckled, "Oh... he's gay, isn't he?"

"What?" Hamilton hid a laugh, "Gay? Harry isn't gay,"

"Bullshit, yes he is! There's a whole subplot, he dances with another dude and everything!"

"No!" Hamilton argued, still laughing as he sat up, staring at Laurens. The sheet slipped off his chest and he just continued to laugh, leaning back down to collapse on Laurens as he kissed him. He tried not to giggle into the kiss. Laurens felt his smile, though, against his lips and couldn't help but smile as well.

"Your breath stinks," Laurens pushed him away, chuckling lightly. 

"So does yours,"

"Wanna go get breakfast?"

He nodded, beginning to sit up for real this time. Laurens quickly wiped his grin off of his face and got up to grab his duffel bag nearby. He took out a pair of boxers and pulled them on. 

After the two men had gotten dressed and brushed their teeth, they headed down the hall and to the large carpeted room where they served a free breakfast buffet for guests. There were several groups of guests already seated, it being the perfect time for everyone waking up apparently, so Hamilton glanced over at Laurens.

"You remember why Washington booked two nights?" He whispered, feeling the courage melt away like an ice cube in the heat. He quickly tried to regain it as Laurens nodded. "Well, we should sell it to 'em. Look like a real couple,"

"What— What do you mean?" He asked softly, almost interrogation-like. 

"...Hold my hand?" Hamilton asked, offering his hand out. Laurens glanced around, having a million second-thoughts. He took the shorter man's hand regardless, feeling his cheeks burn. 

Hamilton really just wanted to test things out, see if holding Laurens' hand was good at all or if these feelings he had been terrified of weren't what he thought they were. It would be relieving if the feelings were just a scenario his mind made up to scare him. 

Though, holding Laurens' hand didn't reassure him. 

He pushed the feelings away and felt Laurens' grip become more firm as they waited leisurely to get their paper plates.  

Nobody was staring, much less glancing at them, though it felt as though the whole world had its eyes on the two men.  Just the feeling was enough to make Laurens want to hide in shame.

Their hands somewhat naturally found their ways apart as they began to load up on sliced fruit and muffins.  When they sat down at a table in the back is when the realization dawned on Laurens.  There was a whole damn world behind the possibility of holding hands.  Of so much more.  In fact, the way Laurens was face-to-face with the possibility, it felt much like the sun glaring in his eyes.  Just as it had when he woke up this morning next to Hamilton.  The lazy feeling of holding him, of curling his body to be able to glide his fingertips over Hamilton's chest and stomach and hips, it was all so intoxicating!

Laurens quickly shoveled down his oatmeal.  He had the need to distract himself.

"John?  You okay?"  Hamilton asked a bit lightly.  

"Yeah, sorry, I zoned out,"

After thinking for a while about the way Laurens' hand gripped so perfectly onto his own, Hamilton resolved that there was nothing to worry about.  He became happy at the thought, even, knowing that now it couldn't possibly be that he loves Laurens— it was just that he cares very deeply for him as a friend.  So, he decided that while their relationship was very homosexual, it definitely wasn't homoromantic.  There was not way, right?

Because, of course, being in love was something a promiscuous man couldn't do.  It wasn't plausible in Hamilton's mind.  Even if Laurens did love him, he couldn't love him back.  So it was best to keep the relationship strictly platonic and then, occasionally, sexual.  No love, no ulterior motives in the hugs or kisses, no—

A phone rang.  Just in time, too, for he feared that his mind would suffocate him and prove him insane.  A clinical psychopath!

"Hello?"  Hamilton picked up the phone, quickly blanking on what the caller ID said though he knew he definitely checked it.

"Hammie, where you at?"

Hamilton sighed quite audibly, thus prompting interested eye-contact from Laurens.  

"I'm on a job," he lowered his voice into the phone, no looking away from Laurens, "why?"

"Greene was calling your work cell all night, couldn't get a hold of you!  What's up with you, kid?"  Mulligan asked, his voice loud as usual.  Hamilton sighed again.

"Sorry, it was on silent.  Can't I get some sleep for once?"  He said casually.  Laurens snorted at this, looking back at his plate and continuing to eat.

"You?  Sleeping?  Aw, I'm so proud!"  Mulligan teased, "Right, anyway, nobody could get a hold of you and Washington hasn't come to work yet.  Glover wants you at the agency ASAP,"

"Glover?"  Hamilton shot a look at Laurens, holding the phone still and exaggerating his eyes widening to get the point across to his partner.  "What does Glover want?  And I'm in Jersey,"

"Aye!  Jersey?  What the hell're'ya doing there?"

"Washington sent Laurens and me on a job, I'm at a hotel!  God, why don't you ask somebody?  It's not rocket science.  Ahem," Hamilton cleared his throat, "again, why does Glover want me back?"

"Hell if I know, kid.  Anywho—"

"—is not a word," he muttered, groaning a little.

"Shut it, this is America.  Anywho," Mulligan said with a slightly smug tone, "the French fry you're friends with wants me to tell you hello, and Glover wants your ass back in New York at HQ as soon as possible.  I gotta go, now, talk to ya later?"

"Uh, Yeah, bye, Herc,"

"Bye."  And with that, he hung up.  Hamilton put his phone away and glanced over at Laurens.

Laurens spoke, "John Glover?"

"I don't fuckin' know, man," Hamilton answered lazily as he picked up his coffee, "we should grab our shit and go, then, because apparently I'm needed,"

"Needed," Laurens snorted.  He put a hand on Hamilton's knee quickly, "Sorry, Sorry, that was rude.  I didn't mean it like that.  I think you deserve all of the jobs in the world, trust me, I do— it's just, I've never heard anybody but Washington describe you as indispensable and needed!"

"Burr has," Hamilton said defensively.  Laurens' face twisted.

"When?"

"I dunno, we were arguing.  Again,"  Hamilton heaved a large sigh and leaned forward, his nose brushing Laurens' cheek, startling him.  Laurens made a soft noise in surprise and turned his face.  His lips landed right on Hamilton's.

"Damn, Alex," Laurens pushed him away very quickly, "what the hell was that?"

"Nothing," he shook his head, smiling a little.  "Why can't I just kiss you?"

He was feeling high off of the knowledge that he kept to himself— the knowledge that this was nothing more than friends-with-benefits and he didn't need to worry about falling in love.  "Let's go get our shit, yeah?"

Laurens blinked, his cheeks pink.  When they took care of their paper plates and disposable mugs, they headed down the hallway.  Laurens, as soon as they were in the room, grabbed Hamilton and tackled him to the bed, kissing him slowly.

"Mmf— Laur," Hamilton grunted, muffled, though he couldn't help the fact that he just had to wrap his arms around Laurens' body and move his hands up his shirt.  "John, what...?"

"We can sneak in a quickie, right?"  Laurens whispered, far too seductive for Hamilton to even imagine saying no.

"Yes, please," he mumbled as he held onto Laurens' body tighter.  

Laurens began kissing his neck, stopping quickly to go back to kissing him on the lips.  An overwhelming feeling of nostalgia quickly filled him and he pulled away, panting.

"Laur?"  Hamilton hummed, "what's up?"

Laurens was about to answer when Hamilton slipped one hand out of his shirt and grabbed his own hand.  This sent him into somewhat of a shocked state, though he quickly pushed it away and smiled, trying to ignore the déjà vu within him.  It's not as if Hamilton was remotely the same person as the one he was imaging; Hamilton was completely different!  Nothing about simple gestures— hand holding, kissing in public— was designated to one person and one person only.  

At least Laurens held higher hopes this time.  Hamilton wouldn't do the same thing Kinloch did.  

"Nothing, I just—" Laurens cut it short, shook his head and kissed him again, pulling him to his feet.  Hamilton took this opportunity to push Laurens against the door roughly and slip his hand in his pants.  

• • •

"What took you two so long?"  Lafayette asked promptly, wrapping his arms around both men with Hamilton at his right and Laurens at his left.

"Traffic," Laurens waves dismissively, walking into the building.  Hamilton leaned up to Lafayette and whispered:

"Between you and me, Laf, a 'quickie' turned into a few rounds of, 'Alex, god, yes!'" he mocked in a fake, breathy way.  Lafayette chuckled and shoved him away playfully.

"Mon dieu, the two of you should marry already," he mumbled.  

"God, no, Laf, it's not like that at all," he lowered his voice, “in fact, I’m a bit relieved. I thought I had feelings— like, I loved him or sum’— but then I realized I don’t,”

“And... how did you come to this revelation?”

“We held hands, I don’t know, man. I thought holding his hand or being romantic would unveil a new feeling and revelation that I’m somehow hopelessly in love, but that’s not it. I don’t love him,”

Lafayette nodded slowly, pushing himself to be supportive. “Yes. That makes sense,” he paused, knowing it didn’t make sense, “however you feel, just do not hurt him, no?”

“What? How could I hurt him? John’s totally cool, Laf, he gets it. He doesn’t love me either, no more than a platonic way, maybe. If anything, being in love with him would probably hurt him since we both promised this was strictly sexual and we’re just friends,”

“With benefits,” Lafayette added under his breath, speeding his walk so he could make it into the building. Hamilton sighed and followed, moving past his friends to go to the elevator. 

On the second floor was John Glover’s office, where the brown-haired man himself was filing reports. Hamilton cautiously approached.

“Hamilton,” Glover said, turning to look up from his papers. “You’re late,”

“I was on a job,” Hamilton crossed his arms defensively. 

“And I—” Glover set down his pen and pushed away from his desk, his swivel chair moving with him, “was just joking,”

“Where’s Washington?”

“Not sure if he’s arrived, yet. The old lady has a cold,” he said, referring to Martha Washington.

“Right. Whatever. Why’d you so urgently call for me, Glover?”

“I need a favor, Hamilton. Well— Knox is still mad at me, and this was originally his sort of mission to call agents upon— you’re going to be sent to Saratoga Springs, not just you of course, other agents along with you. Your job is to help acquire information rather than detain criminals. We had informed the other agents yesterday, but as it seems you were out,”

“What about agent Laurens?” Hamilton asked impulsively. 

“What about him?”

“Is he going to be on this campaign?”

“Not as far as I know of. I’ll have the files faxed to Washington’s office, and McHenry will fill you in on whatever else you need to know. About Laurens— take that up with Knox. Oh,” he paused, “and tell that fat-ass to stop eating all of the muffins in the lounge. It’s almost criminal to be as fat as he in a world of starving men, women, and children,”

Hamilton snorted and tried to stifle it, although failing. “Will do,” he faux-saluted and turned to leave.


	10. A Switch-Up

"Where's Lex?" Laurens asked, his hands in his pockets. Lafayette looked up from his phone.

"In a meeting with Knox,"

"Knox? Why?"

Lafayette shrugged. "Some job, can't remember. Same one that Glover had called him in for. Why? What is the matter?"

"Nothing is the matter," Laurens gnawed his lip as he sat down on the light gray sofa of the office lobby. 

"No? You seem distressed,"

"It's just— swear you won't make a big deal about this, okay? But you know about how Alex and I have been... y'know...?" His voice lowered involuntarily, his nails making crescents on the sofa. As soon as he noticed, he lightened his grip and watched the crescents fade with a sigh.

"Yes, I know, tell me what has you troubled, my friend. I swear I will not make fun of you," Lafayette crossed his heart solemnly. Laurens nodded and looked around, making sure nobody was in earshot when he whispered:

"Lex was acting really weird this morning. We— we held hands, an' I don't know why he wanted to but we did. ...And then he kissed me in public— in public, Laf!— and we went back to the room and... well, you can probably guess. It's just that I never know what's going on in that cluttered mind of his. I don't know what he meant by the gestures or if this relationship is more than FWB,"

Lafayette opened his mouth to respond but all that came out was a small squeak. He looked away guiltily as Laurens unknowingly went on:

"I think I want it to be more. Which sounds so goddamn weird out loud, I'm not usually so—" he paused, stuttering to find the word. Lafayette finished for him.

"Vocal? Expressive? Romantic?"

"Sure. I don't like the sappy, rom-com romances. And maybe that's why I like him so much because, I mean, he brings out the part of me that I... always thought I hated,"

Laurens sighed at last, his gaze still fixated on his feet. He and Lafayette sat in silence for several moments more as Lafayette mulled over this new information guiltily. 

"Laurens, do not hate that part of yourself," he decided to comment on a less controversial topic within Laurens' sentences. Lafayette went on with a caring hand on his back, "you are a truly special man, you are. Never hate any part of yourself that feels right. Do you know what I mean? Like with being... gay, however you define yourself, you should not hate it,"

"Lafayette, that— that's complicated,"

"Perhaps you are comfortable with it, though I can see that it is an issue for you. You clearly have... how you say, interior— internal?— issues with it even though you do not say such aloud. It pains me, as your dear friend, to see you stumble in such a state," Lafayette whispered. Laurens felt internally defensive at the claim but seeing as he had not a rebuttal nor, at the very least, an argument against the claim, he said nothing. He simply kept quiet as he seethed in self-pity. So, Lafayette continued, "Do not see less of yourself because of this, or because of your uneasiness with Alexander,"

"Has he talked to you?" Laurens asked quietly. "You know, about me...? Anything hopeful?"

"Uh... n— sorry, no, he has not," he stumbled over the words but quickly regained his posture. His hand slid off of Laurens' shoulder and he sighed, "Perhaps give this... time. Yes, time is what this needs. Our Alexander has his own ways of showing how he cares so all we can do is stand back and observe for now,"

"...Thanks, Laf,"

Lafayette was about to respond when the elevator dinged, and angry Hamilton storming out and to the couch to sit by Laurens.

"Hey, what's up?" Laurens asked. "You okay?"

"Henry Knox; George Washington; John Glover; I hate them all! Fuck this!" He nearly shouted. Laurens quickly tried to get him to quiet down.

"What happened?!"

"I'm being shipped off to Saratoga and you can't come! Legit the one person I can ever fucking stand— no offense, Laf, but you weren't invited either— and these meat-heads are keeping us apart because apparently we could 'use some time apart' and you're a 'danger to the cause' and blah, blah, blah! Fuck, fuck, fuck, where the fuck is McHenry?" Hamilton asked as he stood, "I need to fucking find him,"

"Woah, Lex, hold up, I'll come with you," Laurens offered, standing and following him out of the room. Lafayette guiltily bit his lip as he watched the two leave. 

Laurens grabbed Hamilton's shoulder and caught up with him.

"Yo, what's this mission about?"

Hamilton sighed, "Going to Saratoga Springs for some sort of spy shit.  Three weeks," 

Laurens' eyes widened and he nodded slowly.  "When do you leave, then?"

"I want you to come," Hamilton didn't answer the question directly.

"I'll talk to Washington, 'aight?  When is it?"

"May or may not be the day after tomorrow," He laughed a bit nervously and glanced off.  "Hey, you go talk to one of the bosses, I'll talk to McHenry to get info.  Good?"

"Yeah, okay," Laurens nodded.  The two men stood there in silence for another moment or two before Laurens (after, of course, being sure nobody else could see) kissed Hamilton on the cheek and turned to leave.  He made sure to go quickly to hide both his own quickly heating cheeks and the motive behind the sweet gesture.

Hamilton pushed away the thoughts— perhaps, in his mind, reassuring himself that it meant nothing— and continued in the opposite direction to find McHenry in the staff lounge.

McHenry was leaning back in a seat at the back, rapidly typing something or another on his phone.  Hamilton felt no remorse in disturbing him: "Ayy, Micky-H,"

"What is it?"  McHenry looked up disdainfully.

"Clue me in on the Saratoga job?  Glover said to find you,"

"Why'd you take so long in getting here?"

"Welp, after seeing Glover, I had to stop in by Knox's office to remind him of his distasteful obesity," Hamilton paused and clicked his tongue, "then I ranted to Laf and Laurens about having to go on this God-forsaken, three-week job,"

"Nice,"

• • •

Laurens crosses his arms and heaved, seething beyond control.  His blood boiled as he sat in his apartment, awaiting Hamilton's return in which he could tell him all about the stupid mission he apparently wasn't allowed to go on.  Why?  "Because we need you in case of an emergency, Laurens!"  Laurens, while boiling in his anger, mocked the words of Glover and Washington under his breath to himself.  

Just when he thought he was going to snap, Hamilton came bursting through the door.  He, too, was quite clearly angry.  You didn't need to ask him to know— his entrance, his face, and the way he immediately pushed Laurens down onto the couch and kissed him were all apparent signs.

"I'm so— fucking— pissed!"  Hamilton growled between kisses.  Laurens wrapped his arms around his waist and flipped their position, gaining the upper-hand as he laid on top of the shorter man on the couch.  Hamilton immediately stopped this nonsense and switched back, proclaiming: "No.  I'm angry, I want to top,"

"Bet, I'm pissed too," Laurens protested.  (Though he had to admit, Hamilton's anger was certainly a turn-on.)

Hamilton's face softened slightly.  Puppy-eyes.  Angry puppy eyes.  "Please,"

"...Fine.  Just this once," Laurens muttered, knowing that it wouldn't be just this once.  He pulled strings, however, to maintain as much control as possible by holding Hamilton down on him like glue and kissing desperately.   

"I'm so fucking mad," Hamilton growled as he grabbed Laurens' wrists.  "I can't go on that Saratoga job, John. I just— can't."

"Wha—? Why not?" 

"Because!" He paused and felt Laurens' hand slip down his back and into his pants. Laurens pushed off of the couch and stumbled backwards, pulling Hamilton with him to the bedroom. "It's a goddamn narcotics bust, Laur! I don't believe in that, I don't— it's fucking dumb! And if anything, the CIA or whatever can handle that shit, but not me. Not us."

Laurens nodded in mutuality. He pulled their bodies back together to create friction, somewhat forgetting he was angry.  Though Hamilton was adamant on being top, Laurens was still soaking up all the control he could.  Hamilton yelped as he felt Laurens' hand move to his ass and over his hip.

"Good. 'Cause I'm not allowed to go, either," he muttered as he leaned up to kiss Hamilton, who immediately pushed away.

"What?"  Hamilton gaped as he crawled off of the taller man's lap.  Laurens sat up. 

"I said I'm not allowed to go," he repeated.

"What do you mean, you're 'not allowed to go'?!"

"I asked Washington and he said no.  Why does it matter, Lex?  You're not going either,"

"Of course I'm going!"  He got on his knees, "I can't back down, it's a job, I don't get to choose!  I was just— being melodramatic.  Why can't you go?"

"I don't know.  Washington just said 'no'."

"Yeah, but why?!  There's no reason why you can't,"

"Look, if it makes you happy," he sighed, "I'll try to get Glover to assign me.  But technically I'm in Washington's division so I don't know how much it'll do.  I'll try to get on the job, 'aight?"

Hamilton reluctantly sighed and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Laurens' lips.  Laurens pulled him back into his lap, a more heated kiss beginning to stem.  He basked in the passion (not to mention the ability to get Hamilton to shut up and stop arguing) and the heat of the moment. 

Hamilton moaned as Laurens palmed him through his pants before quickly pulling them off. The two both worked on stripping until Hamilton leaned forward, already in his underwear, and kissed Laurens deeply. His hand was practically wrapped around his neck (not in a way to hurt him, of course) and his other hand tangling in his curly hair.

“Mph— Lex,” Laurens broke the kiss with a pant. “I kinda like this side of you, ‘s been a while,”

Hamilton nodded inaudibly and shifted his hand from Laurens’ neck. Laurens went on softly:

“But you’re gonna have to work for it, Lex,”

“What do you mean?” Hamilton asked genuinely. He paused when he got an idea, smirking, “Should I tie you up so you can’t try and steal dominance, Laur?”

Laurens’ eyes went wide, face red. “What...?” They had never done anything like that before. 

“Only if you wanna,” he reminded, “but it’d be pretty hot, don’t you think? We could use my tie,”

“I...” Laurens was hesitant, only because he wasn’t sure how much control he really wanted Hamilton to have, but sighed in the end. “I trust you.” And it was the truth. Laurens felt his ears become hot at the realization that it was real. Never in a million years would he have imagined a guy, let alone Hamilton, tying him up... restraining him. He did have to admit to himself that it was pretty hot. Which was exactly Hamilton’s thoughts as he found his tie from the floor and gently took Laurens’ hands, beginning to wrap the fabric around his wrists.

“Goddamn,” Hamilton whispered once the knot was tied. “Yo, if this works out, I might invest in some scarves or handcuffs or something,”

Laurens couldn’t figure out if that meant for himself and other potential partner, of for the two of them. He tried to ignore the jealousy, keeping his mouth shut. Hamilton chuckled at his silence and began kissing his neck before quickly jumping up to grab lube. A bottle of which was right on the nightstand.

“This new?” Hamilton questioned, feeling the slight weight of the cold substance as he put some in his hand. 

“Not really. Had it for a while,” he paused, feeling Hamilton’s cold hand slow and teasing on his cock, “but it’s been in my bathroom for a while,”

“Damn, Laur. This is the good stuff. Like, expensive,” he whispered, somehow seductively so. “Why’ve you been holding out on me, huh?”

“Just— expensive. An’ I’m out of any other stuff. I... after that hotel sex we had, I just couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he lowered his voice, knowing it was a risky move, “I love... the way... I fuck you, the way... you jus’ beg for more,”

Hamilton’s stroking faltered for a moment but he quickly picked it back up, kissing Laurens’ neck simultaneously. Laurens moaned in spite of himself when a hand held tighter on his cock, moving a bit slower. Hamilton pulled away and commanded Laurens to get on his knees. When he felt a finger press into his hole, Laurens yelped and shivered.

“Shit. I’m so mad a-at you right now,”

“Why’s that, Laur?”

“This whole— dominance thing with you, it— it feels so damn good. Shit,” he muttered. “Better not be more than a— ah...”

“What was that?” Hamilton smirked to himself as he pulled the two fingers out, slowly pushing his cock in instead.

“Better not be more than a one-time thing,” Laurens whispered quickly so he wouldn’t get caught up on the way Hamilton felt inside of him. “Shit,”

“Like that?” Hamilton whispered gently, pushing a bit deeper. He leaned forward so his chest was somewhat pressing against Laurens’ back, and he wrapped his hands around his erect member. Laurens moaned at this and tried to hide it by clenching his jaw. 

“This is... surprisingly... really good,” he stammered. “Go faster,”

“John—”

“I said faster,” Laurens commanded. He felt happy to have this little bit of control. So, Hamilton stopped his torturously slow pace and went a bit faster. And when Laurens told him it was enough, he took one hand away from his cock and put it on his hip, sitting up straight for a better angle as he moved as fast as he could go.

“Goddamn, J-John,” Hamilton stammered. Perhaps he was he more of a mess right now than Laurens, (but that was okay— Laurens couldn’t wait to turn this around and watch him writhe, being even more of a mess than right now. Especially since he now knew one of his kinks.)

“So good,” Laurens hummed, biting his lip. He felt his stomach tighten.

“John, ah, I’m gonna cum,” Hamilton panted, threatening to pull out. Laurens finished with a long, quiet moan, prompting Hamilton to pull out and collapse into the bedding, unable to stop his release. He rolled to his side and started helping Laurens undo the binding, (Though it hadn’t served too much of a purpose, the thought and sight was hot).

“Fuck,” Laurens panted, rolling over and grabbing Hamilton by the hips, “that was so fucking hot,”

“Agreed,” he huffed.

Laurens chuckled a bit, “But do you know what would be hotter?”

“Mm?”

“Letting me fuck you... I can fuck you so good into the bed, Lex.” Hamilton felt Laurens’ hand move down to his cock, slowly pumping it to get him hard again as he whispered, “I can make you beg,”

“No, you can’t,” Hamilton dismissed teasingly, flipping over so he wasn’t facing Laurens. This was mostly to hide his blushing embarrassment, though. 

“What’re you betting?” He kissed the back of his neck. 

“Another time, ‘aight? I’m tired and still worn out from last night,” he added softly, “there wasn’t much sleeping,”

“Fine, whatever,” he teased and smiled, “let’s just nap then, Lex. Then we’ll get shit done later, but first just rest,”

“Good with me. Shower after, we nast-ay,” 

Laurens laughed and nodded, burying his face in Hamilton’s shoulder. He spooned him and held him close, happiness swelling in his heart. It was the realest thing he’d felt in a long time.


	11. It Was Innocent

Hamilton was angry, no doubt, as he packed his bag.  He'd have to arrange to take his classes online— a dreadful thing, really— not to mention the fact that Laurens was told, again, specifically not to go to Saratoga.  He was supposed to leave with his crew at ten AM sharp, giving him thirty minutes to drop by Laurens' apartment then about twenty to get back to the office in time; if he could hurry, that is.

"Where're you off to, again?" Troup asked as he looked up from his laptop, twisting in the desk to glance at Hamilton.

"I told you, just something for work," he growled. 

"Damn, Hamilton, where do you work?" 

Hamilton zipped the bag. "Doesn't matter,"

"Now I'm more interested. What, you in the CIA or something? You and your—" Troup stopped, cutting out the 'boyfriend', "friend are always off late at night. Maybe you're just fucking, I won't judge. But what about that weekend trip? Do friends-with-benefits usually do that whole weekend trip thing? Are you still doing friends with benefits?"

"We made up," Hamilton mumbled, staring at the backpack on his small dorm bed. "And going on a trip with him isn't weird. I'll have you know, we fucked several times in that hotel bed and it was goddamn hot,"

Troup snorted. "Glad to hear. You even gonna ask him out?"

"What?"

"Ask him out," he repeated. "You know, man. Ask him to be your boyfriend,"

Hamilton forced laughter as he scoffed, turning to his dorm mate. "Why the hell would I ask him out?"

"Uh, because you already act like you're dating?"

"We are not. It's just FWB. Friends with benefits. No more,"

"Hah. Very funny," Troup rolled his eyes. "Who else have you fucked since you've been 'vibing' with Laurens?"

"Nobody. But it's just because I've been busy,"

"Busy... having sex with Laurens. Who else has he fucked?"

"As far as I know, nobody,"

"Right. So you two are only having sex with each other. Not to mention you had a big fight about— only God knows what, really— like some sort of married couple. I heard him telling you to go fuck somebody else and hey, you didn't. You wore his sweatshirt, which you're wearing right now as a matter of fact, and you called him your boyfriend for no reason behind his back,"

"There was a reason," Hamilton argued, "I just didn't want to seem like I can't maintain a relationship, I mean, everybody always calls me a man-whore anyway so I didn't really want to write, 'Going to the apartment of a guy I'm fucking, want anything from the store on my way back?'"

Troup shook his head, "Then just go for it! You like him, even a little? Or are you afraid of commitment? Are you afraid he won't want to be with you, is that it?"

"John doesn't want a serious relationship with me. Just look at me," he scoffed. 

"What's wrong with you?"

"I'm a disaster. I try to be as elitist as possible and be the best I can but in the end I'm always going to be some bastard from the Caribbean. He doesn't want somebody like me who's been 'known' to be unfaithful,"

"You're good enough to be having sex with, isn't that something?"

"John deserves better,"

"At least you didn't storm out of an argument to let it simmer,"

"At least John didn't cut it off with me completely, 'cause I know I deserve it,"

"At least you didn't go make plans to fuck somebody else!" Troup stood, crossing his arms. "At least you care enough because you're clearly overthinking this. At least you work your ass off to get what you want,"

"At least John knows who both of his parents are! At least he's not the son of a whore because that's what I fucking am and that's all I'm going to be. At least he knows his mother and father were in a committed relationship when my dad could've been my landlord, for all I know! Was he my mom's ex-husband? Was he the guy who she cheated on him with? Was he the family friend whose son was always said to look sort of like me? I don't fucking know. At least John has a chance in life. I'm at the bottom and I will always be at the bottom. I'm always going to be a promiscuous fuck-up who can't keep a girlfriend because she doesn't like that I'm poor, or she thinks we're better off as 'friends', or she's too worried I'm going to turn gay or I'm just going to outright cheat! I was set up for failure since I was born. At least I know that because John clearly doesn't,"

Troup stepped back, any words that came to his head vanishing. He stared the disheveled man before him in the eyes. At last, he said, "At least Laurens doesn't care,"

"Excuse me?"

"Laurens clearly doesn't care who you are. If you were so disposable then why did you go through the trouble of finding you at your dorm, waiting for you, and just being upset at whatever happened between you too. He so obviously doesn't care about your past or promiscuity or anything like that. Why would he go trough all of that trouble if he was sure you were unreliable anyway, huh?"

"Because, I..."

"See? Exactly. If you're so promiscuous then why don't you have sex with me?"

"What?!" Hamilton crossed his arms, eyes widened. "What the fuck, Troup—?!"

"Exactly. You wouldn't,"

"Because that's fucking weird! You're my roommate."

"And Laurens is your coworker? You wouldn't because you don't want to upset him,"

"First of all, that was a horrible 'I-told-you-so' example to do. Second, John wouldn't be upset because we're in an open relationship and I can fuck whoever I want. Third, I wouldn't fuck you because I'm not attracted to you like that. I don't just hump anything that moves, Jesus Christ," he huffed, picking up his backpack. 

Troup smirked, "Do you ever get jealous? Like, thinking about Laurens? 

"No," he spoke adamantly. Then, in his head, he realized it was a lie. "Look, I gotta go or Imma be late. Thanks for letting me rant and also don't utter a word about this to anyone or I'll donate all of the food in our fridge to the homeless. I can eat at work but I know you don't have a meal plan. See ya," he turned, grabbing his phone and charger before opening the door.

"A-Also, I don't want to fuck you either, I'm straight," Troup said quickly. "Just so we're in understanding,"

"Good for you. What a boring life you lead. Bye, Bobby,"

With that off of his chest, (and a million more insecurities in his head) Hamilton began to the subway. On the train he could only ask himself question after question, immediately dismissing them with the answer of, 'John and I are just friends' or something similar. And when he was on the stairs to Laurens' apartment, he told himself that this was just him stopping by as a friend. And maybe in his mind he was trying to convince himself that it was better in the long run to keep the relationship open.

"Laur?" Hamilton knocked, adjusting the heavy bag on his back briefly before the door opened, revealing Laurens, who looked half-asleep.

"Lex, it's like, nine in the morning,"

"Yeah, and? I'm going on that Saratoga thing today," he let himself in, pushing past Laurens. Laurens grunted and closed the door, turning to Hamilton. He grabbed his waist and kissed him. Hamilton couldn't say he was necessarily surprised, but damn.

"I'm gonna miss you," Laurens mumbled tiredly as he pulled away. The shorter of the two just stared, overthinking every little thing way too much now. As if he didn't do that before. 

"Same," he just nodded.

"How are you?" He hummed softly, going to the coffee maker.

"What?" Hamilton asked, startled. He could have sworn that Laurens said, 'I love you.'

"I asked, 'How are you?' Damn, do you have water in your ears from your shower or some'?"

"No, no, actually I need to shower and I wanted to know if I could do it here. I don't want foot fungus from the dorm showers," he chuckled. 

"Yeah, whatever. How much time you have before you go, again?"

"Um," Hamilton looked at this watch with a sigh. "It's 9:10, so about fifty minutes. And that's to be able to have time to take the subway to the office,"

"Coffee?"

"Hell, yeah,"

Laurens poured him a mug, putting in a little bit of vanilla creamer to top it off. He passed it to Hamilton, who was now sitting on the countertop since there were no chairs nearby and his legs hurt from standing on the subway train for so long. "That my sweatshirt?"

"Shit, this is good. Oh, yeah it is, sorry," he added awkwardly, continuing to sip the coffee. He pulled the sweatshirt down a bit, acknowledging the fact that he was looking ratchet anyway in only joggers and sweatshirt, much like the clothes he was wearing two weeks ago before being yelled at about... whatever.

"Thanks,"

"You can have it back if you want. I just accidentally grabbed it a couple weeks ago, you know, that morning when I left early and then later we fought, I guess... s-sorry," he stuttered.

"It's— Whatever. I have another just like it. That one's from my freshman year at Middlesex anyway," he waved dismissively. "So, I made the coffee right this time?"

"Yeah. Well, it's always right, I just like giving you a hard time. But it's definitely perfect. Perfect coffee-to-creamer ratio,"

"Ayy, I'm learning," he laughed. Hamilton nodded as he continued to chug. Laurens smiled at the man's coffee addiction endearingly. As soon as Hamilton set the mug down, he got between his legs from where he sat on the counter and wrapped his arms around his waist.

"Uh, Hey," Hamilton whispered with a little bit of a laugh. Laurens just hugged him as he kissed his neck, not quite tall enough to reach above his Adam's Apple from where Hamilton sat. 

"Hey,"

Perhaps he was just paranoid, but Hamilton could swear that Laurens was being more affectionate than usual. It freaked him out but he stayed calm— ('cause even if he wouldn't admit it, he liked the feeling of somebody caring.)

"I gotta shower, Laur," Hamilton hummed, leaning forward to kiss the freckled man's head. 

"Mm... then maybe I need to shower, too," 

Hamilton's eyes widened slightly. "That's— goddamn, yeah." He began to push himself off of the counter, somewhat falling into Laurens' arms. Laurens held his arms under his ass to support him, and in return Hamilton wrapped his legs around the other man's waist. He felt giddy and excited from being carried like this by Laurens, not to mention turned on. 

Laurens managed to get them to the bedroom before he collapsed on top of Hamilton on the bed, needing to set him down or he'd drop him. Hamilton felt himself laughing playfully as Laurens let out an exhausted sigh. 

"Go shower," Laurens groaned, rolling over. "I gotta put the creamer away,"

"Ooh, is that a euphemism?" Hamilton chuckled as he stood. Laurens rolled his eyes and blew him a teasing kiss. 

Hamilton went to go turn on the shower and strip while Laurens forced himself to put the creamer away. He gave it another moment or so before turning to the bathroom, where Hamilton was already in the shower. He smirked to himself and closed the bathroom door, notifying Hamilton that he was there.

"Laur?" Hamilton asked out loud, feeling stupid.  Obviously it was him.  He heard the shuffling of clothing and just sighed, rinsing his face under the hot water.  He was about to pull the curtain back to peak when Laurens did so first, smirking.  Hamilton wiped the water from his face and smiled, pulling Laurens into a kiss.  "Hey, Laur..."

"Lex," Laurens hummed, immediately going to run his hands down his backside as the hit water spilled over his shoulders.  Laurens kissed his cheek slowly, reaching around to grab the bottle of shampoo that sat on the shelf beyond Hamilton.  Hamilton leaned into his body, not realizing at first that Laurens wasn't leaning in to kiss.

"John, what're you—" he paused, a breathy sigh leaving his throat.  The taller man poured some shampoo into his palm and kissed Hamilton again.

"Hold up, I'll wash your hair," he hummed.  Hamilton, while thinking the situation somewhat odd, stood still as Laurens' hands ran through his thick black hair.  He felt another sigh escape his lips as his scalp was massaged slowly.  In attempt for physical contact, his hands moved over Laurens's biceps and then to his chest.  His right reached up to  lean on Lauren's shoulder and, slowly, snaked to hold around his neck as their bodies pressed together.

"Lean your head back," he whispered.  Hamilton tilted his head obediently, feelings the water rush over his hairline.  Laurens helped him rinse, planting a kiss to his neck gently.  

After the shampoo was out of his hair, Laurens began to pull Hamilton closer. Their bodies intertwined as Hamilton was pressed against the shower wall, one leg rising slightly to wrap around Laurens' thigh. He tried creating friction, soon being relieved by Laurens' hand on his cock. 

"John," he mumbled, burying his face in his neck. Laurens picked him up, still supported by his back on the wall, and locked his arms under his thighs. As soon as Hamilton realized what was happening, he tightly wrapped his arms around the freckled man's neck. 

"Y'good?" Laurens made sure to ask, aligning himself. Hamilton nodded vigorously, whispering something that resembled a "Yes". So, Laurens slowly pushed in, lowering Hamilton down onto his member. Through pants and whispered, Hamilton moaned gently:

"I'm gonna miss you, Laur..."

"Hey, you'll o-only be gone for a couple weeks," Laurens kissed his temple. "...I'll miss you, too."

"H-hey, Laur?"

"Mph— Yeah?"

"I— ah— since I-I'll be gone for two weeks, can you promise not to— mmn— fuck anyone else while I'm g-gone?"

"W—? Of course, I-I mean," he paused with a grunt. Hamilton interrupted, his nails clawing uncontrollably at his back.  

"Absence m-makes the heart grow fonder, right?  Since you cast me o-on that dry spell that's gonna be over in like, two weeks anyway, ah—!  M-maybe you keep the pact with me?!  Mmn— John, right there—"

"Like that?"  He teased, going a bit slower.  Hamilton moaned and leaned forward in attempt to bounce a bit faster.  So he sped up again, thrusting harder as he tried to attack Hamilton's neck with rough kisses.

"John— oh, John— mn..."

• • •

"Hey," Laurens said quickly. Hamilton was about to leave, the shower taking longer than expected.  

"Yeah?"

"See you in two weeks?"  He smiled a bit.  

"Two weeks ," he confirmed as he stood in the doorway for a moment longer. Laurens quickly kissed him. “God, Laur, I’m gonna be late if you keep doing this.”

“Hey, hey, it was innocent! Be on your way now,” he chuckled. Hamilton nodded, leaving. He let himself break into a smile as he practically jogged down the hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like alex and John have been having a lot of sex lately but hey, these two crazy kids can’t keep their hands off each other, soooo


	12. I Like Trains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title is a joke; Alex is still conflicted about his feelings

Hamilton glanced out the window of the train car with a sigh, McHenry nudging him.

"Hey, man, you okay?"  McHenry asked. 

"Fine," he answered promptly.  It was a bit monotone so he picked his head up and acted natural.  "Just didn't sleep well, so y'know, the usual."

"Typical Hammie.  You really should try taking something to help you out."

Meade, who sat across from them, interrupted with a laugh, "Or just try going to bed for once?"

"Both of you can fuck off," he yawned for dramatic effect.  Truth be told, he was tired, but not because he was up late doing school work.  He was up late thinking about death and maybe Laurens but that was unimportant.  Then to rid himself of the non-wakefulness he stopped by Laurens' apartment, since that was certainly a cure.  He did actually feel better about life after being fucked in the shower but hey, nobody else needed to know that.  Or the way Laurens kissed him before leaving or how he—

"Hammie?  Dude?  ...Are you like, high?"  Meade asked.  Hamilton snapped out of his thoughts.

"Tired," he insisted for a second time.  

"Right."

"Oi, why isn't Laurens coming on this job?  Aren't you two partners?"  McHenry asked.  Hamilton perked up, hiding an embarrassed face.

"Partners?"

"You know, taking jobs together and shit?"  He clarified.  Hamilton let out a sigh of relief and slumped back down. Double meaning.

"Yeah, sure, I guess."

"You two are attached at the hip," Meade added.  "So... why isn't he here?"

"Washington is a dick and won't let him come," Hamilton paused and mumbled an apology for bad-talking his boss.  Who knew where he hid cameras? Knowing Washington's paternal overprotectiveness, Hamilton wouldn't be surprised should he find a wiretap on his backpack or some shit.

"Any reason?"

"Just that John's a dangerous moron and I'm a war-hungry psychopath, you know, the usual."

"Ah, the usual," Meade said.  McHenry nodded in general agreement and looked off to the side.  

Several moments passed and he whispered, "Bored as fuck.  It's so stupid that we can't bring our smartphones with us."

"The government can trace them and we can't afford that.  Do something productive, Jesus," Meade turned jokingly to Hamilton, "Millenials, am I right?"

Hamilton glanced to the slightly older man at his side then back at Meade, nodding without caring much.  He tapped his fingers against the faux wood table that was between them, then looked up at the door.  "This is dumb.  What if we had like, family emergencies to tend to?  We need our phones."

"You don't have family," McHenry pointed out.  As soon as he said it he realized how not-funny it was and how much of a dick he sounded like.  Meade glared.

"Well-aware, Mickey-H.  Thanks for reminding me, though."

McHenry sighed, "Sorry, Ham."

"Mm.  What if I wanted to text Lafayette and ask him if I should dye my hair or not?  That's like... vital information.  What if Lafayette's wife divorced him and he was emotionally distraught and contemplating suicide?"

Meade interrupted, "We're not all suicidal, Ham."

"Fuck off."

"Why don't you write a letter?  That's, like, fun.  Right?"

McHenry snorted.  Hamilton huffed:

"I don't get it.  Why are you here, Mickey-H?  You don't even want to.  Laurens wanted to."

"I'm a doctor?  Duh.  Washington wouldn't send you idiots to the springs without a trusted military doctor to help you."

"You're not a military doctor.  You're just a medical student."

"Better than you.  Could you tend to a bullet wound?"  He asked.  Hamilton opened his mouth to retaliate but had nothing.  "Exactly.  So fuck off."

"Laurens is a better doctor than you and his dad made him quit medical school," Hamilton muttered angrily.  

Meade crossed his arms.  "Fuck that.  His dad would've encouraged medical school."

"Bet."

"Nah, that's a damn lie.  Or maybe a fib.  Laurens probably quit himself, I mean— God, love the guy but he gets so distracted easily.  Like you bring up one thing and he turns it into a lecture about police brutality.  Probably why he studied law instead, I mean at least then he could be like, 'I'm a lawyer, I know what I'm talking about' which is better than a doctor on a bunch of levels because lawyers are considered cunning and smart.  Usually."

"That, and snakes," McHenry snorted and then to Hamilton, "No offense."

"Right.  None taken.  And Meade, you literally make no sense."

"Bullshit."

Hamilton tapped the table urgently, "Laurens' dad is a dick.  I know how much John wanted to become a doctor and pretends like it was his own decision to quit on it but seriously, it's so painfully obvious that if his dad wasn't so... bent on it, he would be getting his Doctorate's in medicine or some bullshit instead of wasting his valuable time in this stupid 'militia'."

"I like how much you care," Meade rolled his eyes.

"And what does that mean?"

"You're obsessed with Laurens.  Like, not a creepy way, just to a scary extent.  You just know so much about him and I'd say it's one-sided but it's really not.  He talks about you 24/7, too.  Like your name is just a normal word you'd bring up in conversation," Meade scoffed, "I've never seen two people with such a close friendship since like, high school, with two girls who have been friends since kindergarten and can't stand not being together.  That's you two."

"He talks about me?"

"That's all you got from that?  Yes, he does."

McHenry interrupted, "Not an exaggeration.  All the time."

"In what way...?"  Hamilton asked timidly.

"Dunno, good way?  He gets so carried away that like, a minute after we've moved on from you as the topic of conversation, he'll make sure to say, 'Oh, and another thing...'"

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. You two are fucking long lost twins."

"I'd hope not," Hamilton murmured sarcastically under his breath and pushed himself up and past McHenry to leave the compartment. He walked carefully towards the back, moving from one car to the other and glancing at the woods passing by. He finally got to the dining car and ordered a hot coffee. (And also asked the attendant about paper and pencil, to which she found some for him kindly.) 

He sat down with his coffee and paper and tried to think of something to write.

For once in his life, Hamilton, the man of many words, had nothing to write. He couldn't write love letters to Laurens or a rant letter to Lafayette. He couldn't do anything. He simply drank his coffee and sighed. When Laurens was bored, he drew. Hamilton already knew that he himself was not a good artist. He tried drawing a face once and that... went very badly. He even carved a unicorn into his wood clipboard but that didn't get him brownie points either. Just snickers from his coworkers.

So he sat there, staring at the blank page for what felt like forever, until he zoned out enough to the point that he was able to sleep. Unattractively— he looked awful. 

• • •

Hamilton awoke suddenly to a hand on his shoulder. He cursed himself for falling asleep and wiped the drool off of his lip hurriedly to see the same train attendant standing there. 

"Sir, you fell asleep," she said.

"Yeah, no shit," he grumbled. "Sorry, Just—" He pushed himself up and took the blank paper and pencil with him, rolling his eyes. He found his way back to his compartment just to find the train suddenly stopping, jerking him forward a bit.  With the train unmoving, he carefully made his way back to the compartment where he had been sitting with his colleagues.

"Hey, Hammy.  You alright?"  Meade asked.  He was pulling luggage out of the overhead compartment.  "It's our stop, man."

"Right.  Yeah, I'm fine.  Just tired," he shrugged.  Meade nodded and handed him his duffel bag.  

"McHenry is outside. Let's go, this is the last of it."

"I can't believe we're going to be wasting two weeks on fucking narcotics," Hamilton complained under his breath.  Meade shot him a look.

"Shut up, man.  Don't be so open in public, Jesus."

"Fuck off."

Meade rolled his eyes.  Once they were off the train and had found McHenry, along with two other agents— and their supervisor, Glover, who was looking over some sort of coordinates on a tablet.

"How's technology treating you, old man?"  Meade asked him.  Glover cut his eyes at him.

"I'm almost a millennial, fuck off."

"Hardly," McHenry snorted.  

"Either way, you're still Gen. X and you're still old," said Meade.

"Generation X is not old!  At least I'm not a baby boomer, you ungrateful little children.  Now, the cabs should be here soon, so we'll be taking them in increments of three.  I'll take the first one with these two bozos—" Glover pointed behind him at the two other agents, “and you three fend for yourselves. Meet you at the hotel, check in, and have dinner. Tomorrow evening we’ll be starting the first of the busts, so you all better be in the dining area at seven PM sharp.”

“Yessir,” Meade saluted. Glover rolled his eyes and turned away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit, people
> 
> I’m sorry that it’s a short chapter and it leaves much to be desired, but I’ve been so lazy that I had to post at least a little bit. I swear that I’ll make time to post more often.


	13. Mickey D’s Booty Call

Hamilton began down the sidewalk with his bag.  Meade gave him a questioning look.

"Hey, man," he said, "uh, you gonna get in the cab, or what?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll find my way back without you.  I'm fine," Hamilton called back uncaringly.  He disappeared onto the streets eventually and made his way to the nearest fast food chain.  He was hoping there would be a payphone on the way, but there wasn't.

Inside of the restaurant, Hamilton approached the counter and waited in line.  Several minutes of awkward standing and inhaling the smell of fried-everything went by and it was his turn.  "Uh, hi," Hamilton said to the young-looking employee.  She must have been in high school.  "—Can I use your phone?  Well— not your phone, but the landline?"

The employee raised an eyebrow.  "Are you purchasing anything, Sir?"

"Do I have to?"  He sighed then pulled out his wallet.  "Just a medium fry, then."

She smiled at him and rung up his order, then motioned toward to phone on the wall nearby.  Hamilton held his receipt as he dialed Laurens' number.

It rang.

And it rang.

And it rang some more.

Then, the automated voice said, "Your call has been forwarded to an automated voice message system—"

Hamilton quickly put the phone on the receiver with a growl before picking up and dialing again.  It rang only once before going to voicemail again.  For a third time, Hamilton punched in the numbers, getting increasingly frustrated at Laurens at this point.

It rang several times before an angry Laurens picked up.

"The fuck do you want?!"  he asked.  

"John, it's me.  Alex," Hamilton said quickly, relieved to hear Laurens' voice.  He could practically see Laurens' expression softening at this point.

"Alex?  Why the hell are you calling me from a McDonald's?" Laurens asked.  

Hamilton sighed.  "How do you know I'm at McDonald's?"

"After this fuckin' dumber wouldn't stop calling me, I googled it, and it showed up.  I finally got done with the BS and answered.  What's up?"

"Well, I'm obviously now in Saratoga. I just wanted to call so you'd like, know... y'know? Just so your dumbass doesn't come try to visit me all concerned. Definitely don't do that," he said the last part quite sarcastically, "'cause G-Wash would have both our heads. Anyway, how're you?"

"Alexander," Laurens said, only able to laugh. Hamilton relaxed a bit at hearing the laughter. 

"Yeah?"

"You're a goddamn dork, y'know that? Jesus..."

"Well, I wanted to check in with you!" he cried out defensively, then quieted quickly and gave a nervous glance to the other fast food diners. He heard his number get called suddenly, so he said "That's my fries, one sec," and leaned toward to counter to grab his brown paper bag with his cardboard cup of fries. Grease was staining the bottom; he let out a disgusted noise and brought the phone to his ear again. "Anyway... yeah. Don't call me out 'cause I care about letting you know about my well-being."

"Charming," said Laurens.

"I know, right? Oh, and also, Meade and McHenry are so clueless about us vibing or whatever. They just think we're obsessed with each other or som' like that? Don't know. But I kinda love it. It's funny."

"It's none of their business," Laurens said defensively. 

"Jesus, Laur. I was jus' sayin'. You got a problem with people knowing or something? Because it's been months and months and months."

"Which means what?"

"Don't know, just that it's annoying that you're so ashamed of it."

"I'm not ashamed of it. I'm perfectly comfortable in my own skin, Alex. We just don't need to shout from the rooftops," he said, then stammered, "that we're fucking. Nobody else needs to know. It's not because I'm embarrassed of you or anything—"

"Never said that."

"—Because I'm not—"

"You brought that up, not me."

"Oh, my God, Alex. You're twisting my words. I literally said I'm not embarrassed of you and you're making it seem the opposite! Goddamn."

"Okay, don't shout at me," Hamilton muttered. "Asshole."

"Hey."

Hamilton let out a sigh. "I should go... y'know, before Glover is pissed about this or that. See you when I get back?"

"...See you when I show up at your hotel room at midnight without Washington or Glover or anyone else finding out?" Laurens smiled devilishly to himself. 

"John... you don't even know where I am."

"Then tell me the address, baby. ‘Cause you know how badly I’m gonna miss ya~"

"Oh, fuck off," Hamilton whispered, blushing and chuckling. He bit his lip. "I'm at McDonald's, John. Don't do this to me. There are people here."

There were several moments of silence. Hamilton tapped his foot and released his lip from his teeth. "John?"

"See ya, Lex."

"Oh. Yeah... see ya."

Laurens hung up, set his cellphone down, and sighed.  He fell backward to his bed again with a feeling of uselessness returning. Oh, how much he just wanted to feel every inch of Hamilton’s body right now. How much he wanted to claim him for himself and make sure nobody else so much as touches him— wouldn’t that be just great?

But he couldn’t have that.

Laurens sat up in confusion at himself. He laughed and realized what an idiot he was before going back to his phone and calling back the McDonald’s number. It rang several times before a feminine voice picked up.

“Hey, um, is that guy who was just on the phone able to talk? Like real quick?” he asked hopefully, no accounting for the fact that it was a McDonald’s number. Goddamn.

“Uh... no, he left...”

“Shit. Thanks anyway,” he said, then hung up. He stood and paced the room. How the hell would he ask Hamilton to be his boyfriend, now? 

He’d just have to wait. But, ew, waiting. He couldn’t bear the thought of waiting weeks. What if Hamilton met somebody else in that time? A few weeks was enough time to fuck somebody, right? After all, they fucked within a few weeks of sexual tension, even though that was after a while if being co-workers. 

Laurens had to admit, friends with benefits was a bad idea. It was an idea that they both knew would end up in one of two things; dating, or the severance of their friendship entirely. He knew it was a terrible choice to let that gorgeous man seduce him. Motherfucker. Hamilton better want to date him, because Laurens wasn’t sure if he could handle not touching him at all. 

That would be hell...


End file.
